Hinge of Fate
by Ramos
Summary: Hermione cannot remember, and Severus cannot forget. Epilogue has been added, and the tale is now complete.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Hinge of Fate Chapter One  
  
Author: Ramos  
  
E-mail: Ramos004@Earthlink.net  
  
Rating: R for sexual scenes, including rape.  
  
Summary: Hermione's memory is missing something, including the details on how she became pregnant. Snape would rather not remember. Disclaimer: These characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. No profit made from their use.  
  
Author's note: I know this has been done before, but here's my version with a twist from 'Memento'. Also, for the record, I'm pro-choice, but I'm not making any kind of statement regarding abortion.  
  
Part I - Discovery  
  
"Don't be absurd!"  
  
It was perhaps not the politest way to repudiate Madame Pomfrey's diagnosis, but it was the first thing that came to Hermione's mind.  
  
Normally, Hermione Granger considered herself to be a fairly level-headed person. Reasonable, thoughtful, and responsible, as well as considerate and respectful to the witches and wizards who oversaw the daily life at Hogwarts. This, however, was too much.  
  
The mediwitch pursed her lips in annoyance, but the firmness in her voice never wavered. "I'm afraid so, Miss Granger. I've performed the diagnosis charm twice, and combined with your other symptoms, there can be no doubt."  
  
"Half the school had a galloping case of the flu when they got back from Christmas break last week, Madame Pomfrey. I helped you and Professor Cluny brew dozens of Defluenza potions, remember? All I've got is a mild case of the flu!"  
  
"It is not the flu. I've asked the Headmaster to come and have a talk with you, young lady. He should be here in a moment; I believe he'll have a great deal to say to you. Your position as Head Girl will..."  
  
"You've what!?" Hermione interrupted, not caring how rude she sounded. "Honestly!" With that exasperated exclamation, she could no longer remain seated. She abruptly left the narrow white bed she'd been directed to when reporting to the Hospital Wing this morning and began to pace up and down the short row of identical beds. It was perhaps fortunate she kept her muttering under her breath, as Madame Pomfrey would no doubt not have appreciated being referred to as a senile dingbat, which was the most creative appellation her mind could currently supply.  
  
As if in response to her half-intelligible comments, Albus Dumbledore appeared in the doorway to the infirmary.  
  
"Good morning, Madame Pomfrey, and to you, Miss Granger. I trust you are well, though it is always a questionable assumption here in the Hospital Wing." Dumbledore smiled with casual good humor, and Hermione had the feeling he was twitting Madame Pomfrey slightly. When neither woman smiled back at him, he took on a more serious expression.  
  
"Well, Poppy? You summoned me from breakfast, and as you know, I'm rather fond of blueberry pancakes."  
  
In bald terms, Madame Pomfrey repeated her diagnosis of Hermione's illness, much to her embarrassment.  
  
"And I've told you, Madame Pomfrey, that there is absolutely no way you can be correct. I have the flu!"  
  
"The only flu you have, my dear, is the Egyptian flu, and in nine months you're going to be a mummy. You are pregnant, my girl, make no mistake!"  
  
Any further argument was postponed as Professor Dumbledore quietly sat down on the nearest cot. It was more than just a sudden lack of his customary twinkle; he suddenly looked every one of his hundred thirty-odd years. Even his robes seemed to droop with fatigue over his narrow, bony shoulders.  
  
"Are you sure, Poppy?" he asked the hovering matron without turning his attention from where Hermione stood with her arms crossed defiantly over her flat and obviously not pregnant stomach.  
  
"Yes, Headmaster, absolutely sure."  
  
"Will you kindly pull Miss Granger's record and bring it here, please." Dumbledore's phrase was polite, but the tone left no doubt it was an order. The older woman made a tsking noise and headed for her office, while at Dumbledore's nod, Hermione sat on the nearby stool.  
  
She squirmed under the Headmaster's piercing gaze, but Hermione's self- righteous irritation refused to abate. "Professor, I don't see how Madame Pomfrey could possibly be correct in this. I know she's a wonderful nurse, but this is... it's impossible!"  
  
"Miss Granger..." Dumbledore reached out and laid a wrinkled, spotted hand atop hers. "This will no doubt be a trying afternoon for you, but I believe you will be strong enough to bear it. First of all," he began, sliding his wand out of his robe's sleeve. "Finite Memonis Anisthetae," he intoned, the sliver of wood in his hand stroked the air over her head decisively.  
  
"Memonis Anisthetae," Hermione echoed dubiously. "What is that?" She sat back on the stool, clenching either side of her seat with her hands as though the chair would tilt her out onto the floor.  
  
"It is similar to an Obliviate, Miss Granger. However, it does not permanently erase the past. It merely sublimates a painful memory until the subject is sufficiently recovered to deal with the trauma."  
  
Her eyes went wide with the word trauma, and the headmaster nodded gravely. "Yes, I'm very much afraid that you have several painful memories currently buried in your subconscious. And they will without a doubt surface, soon or late. Perhaps sooner than would be wise, now that I've removed the Anisthetae charm, but under the current circumstances I think it best you know exactly how you came to be in your current condition."  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, there's absolutely no way I can be pregnant!" Hermione stormed. "And if I am, you'd bloody well better call the Vatican!"  
  
"Hermione." The Headmaster's calm voice reached her, deflating her annoyance and calming the part of her normally quick-leaping brain that refused to add together the clues he'd given her. "I want you to think back to the end of October. Tell me what you remember."  
  
She repressed the urge to huff, and thought back two months earlier. My Nana Bren died. My mother insisted I come home for the funeral."  
  
"Ah, yes. Brenda Carver. Your mother's godmother, correct?"  
  
"Yes. Mum was very upset; she and Nana Bren were very close, especially after my grandmother passed away."  
  
"I see. And how did Mrs. Carver die?"  
  
Hermione frowned. "Heart failure, I believe. She was well over eighty."  
  
"A ripe and venerable age, for one not born a wizard. And after the funeral?"  
  
With determined patience, Hermione outlined how she had dealt her mother's grief, causing her to miss three full days of school as well as the weekend. As she finished, she told him how her mother had dropped her off at the Leaky Cauldron and hugged her several times before finally allowing her to pinch a bit of Floo powder out of the cracked china bowl Tom kept on the mantle of his fireplace.  
  
"I remember I was a bit cross with Mother because she was going to make me late for the Halloween feast if she kept on crying on me. She was being ever so brave, and I knew she was missing Nana Bren something awful, but I had some assignments that were going to be late as it was."  
  
"And then?" prompted Dumbledore.  
  
"Then what?" Hermione shrugged. "I Floo'ed to the Three Broomsticks and came back to the school."  
  
"How was the Halloween Feast?" he asked mildly.  
  
"It was..." the word 'fine' trembled on the tip of her tongue. It refused to come out, because she was suddenly uncertain. "I don't.... I don't remember." Trembling, she pushed her wild, springy hair back behind her ear. "I said hullo to Madame Rosemerta, and I pinned my Head Girl badge on the outside of my cloak. And I remember I put a levitation spell on my bag, because Mum had insisted on buying me some things and it was really heavy, and then... and then..."  
  
"And then it was Monday," supplied Dumbledore.  
  
"Yes," whispered Hermione. She swallowed hard, desperately searching her memories. Nothing came to light. "What happened, Professor?" she asked in a terrified whisper. "Did something happen to me?"  
  
"To my great sorrow, yes, my dear."  
  
Madame Pomfrey bustled up at that moment, giving Hermione a moment to compose herself. Both anxious to know the truth, yet terrified of what might be revealed, she paid only scant attention as the nurse showed a parchment to Dumbledore.  
  
"You see, right here. I always make a note of these kind of things, Albus, you know that. Right there, the fifteenth day of October."  
  
Hermione dredged through her memory again and blushed. "Oh. That."  
  
Dumbledore looked over his small, round glasses at her. "It says here, Miss Granger, that you requested, and received, a Contraceptus potion." His voice held no accusation, only dry interest in her answer.  
  
"Well, yes. I did ask."  
  
"And Madame Pomfrey gave it to you?"  
  
"Yes, sir." Her cheeks were turning bright red, but she held her head up high. She was eighteen, well over the age of consent and a full adult in the wizarding world. She had a perfect right to have sex, and whether or not she chose to exercise that right was none of Dumbledore's business.  
  
"But I suspect you did not take the potion. Is that correct, Miss Granger?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Why ever not?" demanded Madame Pomfrey. "If you had, you might not be in this mess!"  
  
"I'm not in this mess!" Hermione snapped. "I didn't take the potion because the bottle broke when I threw it at... him." She'd nearly said Ron's name, but refrained at the last moment. "We had a terrible row, and then we had a long talk," she added, more calmly. "We decided we were better suited as friends than lovers." How she managed to say that word out loud without stammering, she'd never know, but continued, "and then it didn't matter that I'd spilled the potion, because I didn't need it."  
  
"Will you give us a moment, please, Poppy?" The nurse was used to Dumbledore's excluding her from many things, but she took it with no better grace than she ever had. With a sniff, she excused herself and went to her office, where she closed her door, not with a slam, but with an emphatic click that left no doubt as to her opinion of the proceedings.  
  
Dumbledore mutely handed her the parchment with her history on it. At the top, it mentioned her first visit to the hospital wing, for some minor ailment her first year. Her admittance after her disastrous experiment with Poly Juice, then the basilisk petrifaction episode. One after another, her every dealing with Madame Pomfrey was outlined, from minor incidents to major catastrophes. Quickly, she skipped down to the end, where the crisp script began with October 31st.  
  
'Patient brought to hospital wing by Hogsmeade constable Randy Blightwell. Assaulted by Deatheaters as per Severus Snape, also admitted to hospital wing. Injuries are as follows: Broken collarbone, three loose teeth, split lip, blackened eye (left), various other minor scrapes. Sexually assaulted, with vaginal bleeding and bruising. Previous administration of Contraceptus potion confirmed, see above...'  
  
Unable to read further, Hermione dropped the parchment to the floor and bolted for the window. She shoved the heavy metal frame open and leaned out, breathing in deep draughts of the cold December air to counteract the greasy feeling in her stomach.  
  
"You have had no other romances since you and Mr. Weasley parted ways?" Dumbledore asked mildly, almost sadly. Hermione shook her head, fighting a sudden surge of nausea and the chaos that came when her logical mind tried to match up the square peg of sexual assault with the round hole of pregnancy. The two refused to mesh, leaving her thoughts a confused jumble and her stomach doubly so. She could not seem to get enough air.  
  
Dumbledore waited patiently until her breathing evened out, then addressed her back, as though he knew she could not bear to turn around and face anyone at that moment.  
  
I owe you a great apology, Miss Granger. Events of that evening were... extremely dramatic, and I regret that I acted with haste. I in no way trivialize what happened to you, but a life hung in the balance that night. I must confess I took an easier avenue that was proper or prudent, and cast the anisthetae on you so that I might turn my attention to what I felt was a more pressing emergency."  
  
Hermione's thoughts latched onto the one thing that had nothing to do with herself. "Professor... Professor Snape. Was he hurt?"  
  
"Yes," answered Dumbledore heavily. From his tone, she knew it was serious.  
  
"He's not on sabbatical, is he?" she stated. Nearly every other Gryffindor had been wildly elated when the Potions Master had abruptly gone on sabbatical two months ago, yet she, Harry, and Ron had tempered their celebration with the faintest concern over the turncoat's well-being. Events of the last few years while dealing with the ever-growing threat of war had given them a certain degree of respect for the absent Potions instructor, regardless of how unpleasant he was as a teacher. Now, it seemed their concern was well placed.  
  
"No, my dear, he is not. He was gravely injured and close to death when he was brought here that night. It was a very near thing."  
  
Hermione opened her mouth again, as more and more questions came crowding into her mind, but Dumbledore held up a cautioning hand.  
  
"I know you have many questions, Miss Granger. I can only beg your forgiveness that I cannot answer them all for you now. Cornelius Fudge is expecting me in his office in an hour, and from there I am due to address a group at the ministry in yet another attempt... never mind, Miss Granger. It is not your concern at this moment, and you have much else to think about."  
  
He rose from his seat and regarded her steadily. "I will return to Hogwarts in two days, Hermione. Come to my office then, and I will hold nothing back from you. You may be excused from classes, if you wish. No?" he questioned, when she shook her head, then tilted his own to one side in acquiescence. "As you will, my dear. I beg you will excuse me, and perhaps, some day, forgive me for this deception. Until Saturday, then."  
  
Automatically Hermione bid the headmaster good day, then gathered her things and left. She wandered blankly to Potions class, where the substitute instructor Professor Cluny accepted without question her response that she'd gone to see Madame Pomfrey and bade her get her cauldron and supplies. She mechanically created the potion - one Snape had taught them while they were fifth years, and only Neville had any difficulty with - while her numb thoughts chased each other around without arriving at any recognizable conclusion.  
  
In a single burst of clear thought, she flipped through her Potions textbook to look up the Contraceptus potion. It was listed without a recipe, merely referred to in context to another, but the book clearly stated that both would last for several months in the bottle, and would maintain their effects in the body for more than a month.  
  
Which meant that if she'd taken the potion when Madame Pomfrey had given it to her, she could not have gotten pregnant for over a month. Try as she might, she could bring no further memories up than the afternoon she had arrived at the Three Broomsticks. The badge, the short-lasting levitation charm, the door to the pub as she'd waved goodbye to the cheerful owner... then nothing. Her next clear memory was eating breakfast on a Monday, worried about an assignment she'd had to hurry to complete, wondering if she still had time to add some more notes.  
  
By that evening, Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room, but her thoughts were grinding around in the same rut, finding no further memories or traces to follow. The fire crackled merrily in the grate as she stared blankly at it, and it was not until someone poked her hard that she startled and came back to the present.  
  
"Oi. Hermione. You finished that assignment yet? Hermione?" Harry's glasses reflected the firelight as he grinned cheerfully at her. She glanced down at the three sentences she'd managed to write in the last hour.  
  
"No. No, I haven't."  
  
"I don't believe this. I've actually finished my homework before Hermione Granger. A day for the record books, this is!" Ron, still crouched over his parchment at a nearby table, shot Harry a dirty look and went back to scowling at his own work.  
  
"So what's up, Herm? Bad day?" Harry plopped on the sofa next to her. His expression was open and helpful, full of cheer, and Hermione could not even open her mouth to express just how bad her day had been.  
  
Harry Potter had changed dramatically from the scrawny boy she'd first met on the Hogwarts Express seven years ago. He was nearly as tall as Ron, now, but still reed-thin. His chest had broadened a bit over the last two years, and the muscles of a fanatical Quidditch player wrapped his bones, giving him a deceptive strength. The death of Cedric Diggory had focused him somehow, flaking off perhaps more of his childhood, and he had spent the last three years digging into the study of magic with a vengeance. His concentration and sense of purpose had sharpened to the point that his marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions had rivaled Hermione's. He couldn't care less about several of his other classes, and his grades reflected that, but anything that might be brought to bear against Voldemort was worthy of his intense study.  
  
Somewhere in the last year, nearly everyone around him had accepted without question the fact that Harry Potter and Voldemort would meet in a final confrontation to either save or condemn the world. It was no longer a question subject to debate. It simply was, and the staff at Hogwarts did their best to prepare him for a battle whose outcome was by no means certain.  
  
In the meantime, however, Harry was still a seventeen-year-old boy, and even though he was her best friend, there was no way Hermione could open her mouth and tell him what that day had revealed to her. She simply stared at him, her lip trembling.  
  
It may have been his sympathetic expression, or he might have put his arm around her shoulders first, but she suddenly found her face pressed into his wiry shoulder as silent sobs racked her body. Harry patted her back awkwardly.  
  
"Hey, Hermione. It's okay. It can't be that bad, really!"  
  
She only shook her head, and left it buried in Harry's green sweater. She did not see him shoot a questioning look over to Ron, and mouth, "What is wrong with her?"  
  
Ron shrugged violently. "How should I know?" he mouthed back, just as mystified by their friend's sudden reversion to being a girl, rather than the sensible, unflappable friend they knew. 


	2. Chapter 2

Thursday and Friday passed in an odd, surreal blur. More than once Hermione had to remind herself that life was not normal; twelve inches on goblin rebellions and I'm pregnant. Toast and juice for breakfast and I'm pregnant. (She'd had to skip the rest of her breakfast when she smelled the eggs.) Need to trim Crookshanks' nails again, and oh, by the way, I'm pregnant.  
  
By Saturday morning the roiling in her stomach had settled into tense iron knots, and her hands had a disturbing tendency to shake as she prepared for her meeting with Professor Dumbledore. Wearing her Head Girl badge, her freshly pressed school robes over her casual Saturday clothes, she approached the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office.  
  
"Coconut Macaroon," she told it firmly, grateful her voice at least didn't waver, and it scrambled out of her way.  
  
The headmaster was waiting for her, and invited her to sit. She took the overstuffed chair he offered as well as a cup of tea then waited nervously, not knowing where to begin.  
  
"You have filed an Emancipation document, have you not, Miss Granger?" asked Dumbledore finally. "Otherwise, I will be required to inform your parents of your. condition."  
  
"Yes, sir. Last fall, when I turned seventeen. It seemed silly, having to ask them for permission all the time when I wanted to do something."  
  
"Something meaning your activities with Ron and Harry, I take it?"  
  
"Yes, that too. My parents and I have had several disagreements, and they've made several hints that they'd rather I finished school in the Muggle world. If they really knew what went on sometimes. They know Harry and Ron are my best friends, but they'd make me go home if they had any idea we might be involved in a war. They don't understand that I'd never turn my back on Harry."  
  
"Your parents are simply concerned that you might be hurt, Miss Granger. And now, you have been. The Deatheaters meant to take your life that night, my dear, and it is only by chance that they did not."  
  
"That's true. But I am of age, both in the wizarding world and the Muggle world, now. I'm eighteen. More, if you count the Time-Turner I used in my third year."  
  
Dumbledore nodded, then took a last sip of his tea and set down the cup. "You have questions, Hermione, and I have answers. Please don't be reticent in asking."  
  
"All right," she said, swallowing hard, and reached into the pocket of her robes for a scrap of parchment. She'd re-written the list three times, and was fairly sure it covered everything. Some part of her wanted to put this off, to discuss something, anything else, but she was a Gryffindor. Smoothing out the folds, she started at the top.  
  
"Was my mother's godmother murdered, do you think?"  
  
"No, my dear. I had received word that students might be in danger at Hogsmeade that weekend, which is why I had the afternoon's excursions cancelled. I was not informed of your extended absence until that afternoon, or I would have had your Head of House meet you at the Three Broomsticks. By then, it was too late."  
  
"Is that why they chose me? I was the only student in Hogsmeade that day?"  
  
Dumbledore pursed his thin lips. "I imagine that the original plan was to take several children from non-wizard families and abuse them, frighten them, certainly, and return them. It is my belief that their frustration at the foiling of their plan was the reason your treatment was so harsh. The Head Girl, being Muggle-born, was a prize fallen into their laps after their earlier disappointment."  
  
"Madame Pomfrey's chart said that Professor Snape was admitted that night as well. Was he one of the Deatheaters that night?"  
  
"Yes. He was summoned by a fellow Deatheater later that evening. Only a few Deatheaters were involved, and the attack on him appeared to be more personal than the usual. I suspect his loyalty was questioned that night, and when he proved less than enthusiastic for their plans, they turned on him."  
  
"What happened? Was his cover blown?"  
  
"A uniquely interesting Muggle term. No, I believe something happened that night that somehow exposed his role, but I doubt we'll ever truly know for sure. His memory, like yours, is similarly impaired, but due to his injuries, not a spell."  
  
Hermione concentrated heavily on the paper over her knee, but the question she wanted to ask was not on it. Her voice shook as she choked it out. "Do you think. does Professor Snape remember enough of that night to know who was the one.." She took a breath to steady her voice. "Does he know who the father of my baby is?"  
  
Dumbledore tucked his chin into his chest, his white and silver beard whispering softly against his robe as he considered how to answer her. "Severus told me that the father of your child was placed under an Imperious charm and ordered to violate you, Miss Granger. It was an act absolutely outside this man's nature, and it may eventually destroy him."  
  
She stared at the old wizard for several moments, knowing the truth, before she could say it. "It was Professor Snape, wasn't it?"  
  
Dumbledore's silence was answer enough, and Hermione drew a shaky breath. "Well. It's certainly easier to take than the thought of Lucius Malfoy. Unless-"  
  
"No, Miss Granger. Just the once." He paused, then posed a careful question. "Do you remember seeing Mr. Malfoy that night?"  
  
"No, just making an educated guess," she replied, and knew she'd guessed correctly despite the Headmaster's attempt to maintain a bland expression.  
  
The thought that she might be pregnant with Drago Malfoy's sibling had crossed her mind more than once in the past few days. She had no proof that Lucius Malfoy was present that evening, but she knew enough of both Malfoy's depraved tendencies and ongoing if subtle animosity with Snape to suspect his participation. The resulting image was so horrific that the truth was nearly a relief. Somehow, knowing that her assailant had not been a leering Deatheater but an unwilling participant made her feel, if not better, at least slightly less horrible than before.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and leaned against the padded chair wing as the reality finally set in. She had been raped. She was pregnant. Tears prickled against her eyelids, and she bit her lip in an attempt to keep her breathing even. The rippling sound of more tea being poured finally penetrated her misery, and she realized Dumbledore was allowing her as much time as she needed to absorb the information he was giving her.  
  
With a rough rasp, she cleared her throat and wiped her nose on the corner of her sleeve before accepting the freshened cup with a murmur of thanks. She sipped it, grateful as the hot liquid soothed the tightness in her throat before returning to the written questions, the orderly list keeping her thoughts in line.  
  
"How did we - Professor Snape and I - escape that night?"  
  
Dumbledore shrugged. "That remains unclear. I cast the Anisthetae spell to calm you down that night, Hermione. You were somewhat hysterical, understandably, and Madame Pomphrey needed all my assistance to save Severus' life. By the time he was coherent, I had made the decision to leave the spell active and let you return to your schooling. He, unfortunately, remembers nothing further than the assault on you, then their attempt to murder him."  
  
"Is there any chance the Ministry would arrest Malfoy for this, if I had wanted to press charges?" The anger that had been lurking at the edges of her shock finally began to make its presence known. Dumbledore nodded his head as though accepting it, but his answer was negative.  
  
"Doubtful. You are a Muggle-born witch, very young, and any reputation you have is in your relationship to Harry. Lucius Malfoy is a very powerful man. His testimony would be extremely convincing, not to mention he would undoubtedly have a raft of witnesses to attest he had been elsewhere that night."  
  
"And it's more likely Minister Fudge would play Quidditch for England before he let an Auror give Malfoy Veritaserum."  
  
"Exactly. Added to that is the fact that he did not directly harm you, not that we know of. He placed a spell on Severus, whose testimony would likely not be believed in any court, other than Voldemort's circle. Also, his status as a Deatheater would only add a negative light."  
  
"Which would be far more dangerous for him. So. It would be my word against Malfoy's," she stated bitterly.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
Fuming, Hermione's own common sense told her that Dumbledore was right. There was no possibility that any allegations against Malfoy could have been proved, not without placing them all in far greater danger than they were already, and with very little chance of success. Angry as she was, she could find no better alternative to Dumbledore's handling. The fact that she had become pregnant was a wild card that nobody could have predicted. Indeed, that had been a possibility the Headmaster and Madame Pomphrey had considered and then dismissed based on her previous request for the Contraceptus.  
  
"What am I going to do?" she asked softly, the anger giving way to panic once again. "Am I going to lose my Head Girl badge?" An absurd question, once she'd said it, but she was very proud of the badge. It was the symbol of everything she had worked for since she'd received her acceptance letter to Hogwarts.  
  
"No, no," soothed Dumbledore. "I have spoken to Madame Pomfrey. There is a potion that can be made, which will cause you to miscarry." The elderly headmaster rose from his chair and went to his desk. "The potion requires several ingredients that by policy are not kept on Hogwarts grounds, however. It will take a day or so to obtain them. Also, Madame Pomfrey will need help to brew this."  
  
"Not Professor Cluny?" Hermione blanched at her own rudeness, but drinking a potion Professor Cluny brewed was not something she'd do on a dare, let alone for her health.  
  
The corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitched, but his voice did not reveal his amusement. "No, not Professor Cluny. This will require a Potions Master, and it just so happens I have one in my pocket, more or less."  
  
"Professor Snape is here at Hogwarts?" Hermione guessed.  
  
"Yes. I will ask for his assistance on this. Unfortunately, we will need to inform him why such a potion is required before he agrees to brew it. Additionally, I think it might also be beneficial for the two of you to talk over this situation." Dumbledore drew himself to his full height and looked down at her, his face more grave than she had ever seen it.  
  
"I fear what this knowledge will do, Miss Granger. Severus Snape is not well. He came so very close to dying that night it frightens me even now to consider it, and his health since then can only be described as precarious. Madame Pomfrey is still struggling to heal some of the damage."  
  
"You mean telling him that he's gotten me pregnant may cause him some embarrassment?" she said snidely, and regretted it immediately at the expression on Dumbledore's face.  
  
"You are the injured party here, Miss Granger. But please bear in mind that Severus Snape was also forced to do something completely against his nature or inclination that night. To know that he performed an act so repugnant to him was terrible enough; to know that he had fathered a child on his victim at the same time may be a blow he is not strong enough to take."  
  
"I understand, Professor," she replied, chastened. "I wish I could make this easier, but to be honest, I'm mostly numb. I don't know what to say to make this easier for all of us, but I wish I could."  
  
"I must rely on your strength to bear this burden, Miss Granger. I would argue a man has a right to know he has begotten a child, but this situation defies normal convention." Dumbledore paused, as though he would say more, but in the end simply led her from his office and down the stairs.  
  
Following in the Headmaster's wake, Hermione considered the absent Potions Master. From his old-fashioned, buttoned-down frock coats to his roiling, viciously sarcastic baritone voice, Severus Snape had always seemed to her to be a man who valued self-control over all else. To have been forced against his will to do anything, especially a crime that he presumably found repellant, would have been excessively humiliating.  
  
Despite his temper and his sharp tongue, Hermione had come to respect Snape, and even feel some sympathy for a man. His was a consumate balancing act as he spied on a psychopathic enemy and walked a knife-edge path between Voldemort and his supporters, all of whom would provide him with a lingering, painful death if they found out his activities, and the Aurors who would throw him in Azkaban the instant they saw the Deatheater brand on his arm.  
  
His virtual enslavement to Voldemort as a Deatheater while honoring his commitment to Dumbledore to act a spy meant Snape could claim very little of his life as his own. His role as head of Slytherin house, overseeing a group of students whose parents were most likely either Deatheaters or supporters of Voldemort, also required him to cater to and oversee the children of the people he was betraying. The tension of such a demanding pretense would make anyone foul-tempered.  
  
Ron Weasley might have argued that his oily persona and harsh disposition were simply his personality, but Hermione had had her doubts for several years. Surely someone that awful would never have bothered to work as a double agent, or done what he could to save Harry Potter's life on more than one occasion.  
  
Hermione and Dumbledore were at the Hospital Wing before she could decide on a way to cope with the imminent confrontation with Severus Snape, but she shied away from thinking of him in any terms other than the Potions Master who would brew a potion she needed. Following meekly behind Dumbledore, she decided to simply follow his lead and let him do the talking.  
  
At the far end of Pomfrey's domain, next to the small lavatory, a frosted glass panel in a peeling wooden door announced itself as the Isolation Ward. Since wizard medicine had long ago countered any communicable diseases with easily brewed concoctions such as the Defluenza potion, the door was dusty and looked as though it would squeak horribly when forced open. At Dumbledore's touch, though, it opened easily. Light from a small window revealed three small, unmade cots which appeared to have been in the same position since Dumbledore himself had attended the school.  
  
"Severus?" called Dumbledore. "Are you awake?" With a wave of his empty hand, the far wall faded to reveal an arch.  
  
"Yes." The dry, sibilant voice that answered bore no resemblance to the even, resonant tones that had lashed Hermione and her fellow Gryffindors for the last seven years. As she caught sight of the man, she barely kept a gasp from escaping.  
  
If Snape had been a black and white scarecrow of a man before, he was now a personification of Death itself. His flowing professorial robes had been replaced with a black quilted lounging jacket, worn more for warmth than for effect, and it outlined his long, lean frame. His pale hands were nearly skeletal as the clutched the arms of his chair, while his face was thin, the skin drawn and sallow over his high cheekbones. The scent of the room struck her, of illness and too much brandy, and it was apparent the house elves could only do so much. He obviously had not seen the outside of these rooms for some time, but the windows were closed with the curtains drawn, and his chair was turned deliberately away from what light managed to creep past those barriers.  
  
The gloom evidently bothered Dumbledore as much as it did Hermione, for he made a tsking sound of irritation. "Honestly, Severus. This place looks like a tomb."  
  
"How fitting, Albus. Perhaps the vampire allegation will finally come true." Snape's voice was still deep, but his chest rose and fell in short, shallow pants after speaking. Hermione was appalled at his appearance. She was even more unsettled when his head turned and he registered her presence beside Dumbledore. For a moment his black eyes glittered with a variety of emotions before he deliberately turned away.  
  
"Why is she here?" he asked flatly.  
  
"We have a situation," replied Dumbledore.  
  
"A situation," he repeated flatly. "We always have a 'situation.'" The sneer had not diminished one whit. Snape left his chair and walked unsteadily to the table by the wall, his long fingers caressing a stack of books that showed no signs of having been read. "Go away, Albus. Take her with you and leave me out of it. My involvement can only lead to disaster."  
  
"I must beg to differ, Severus. You involvement is entirely required."  
  
"There is nothing that would benefit from my efforts," Snape insisted. He turned for a moment, his gaze touching on Hermione before he turned back to his unread books. "Nothing," he repeated dully, his back to his guests as if ignoring them might make them go away.  
  
"Well, that's exactly the attitude we need, Severus," Dumbledore said, a frosty edge to his normally genial voice. "As it so happens, we are in need of a potion brewed."  
  
"Let Pomfrey do it," came the dismissive reply.  
  
"The Gravis Expirerato requires the hand of a Master," Dumbledore countered.  
  
"Gravis Expir.. " Snape stared into space for several moments, before his horrified gaze met Hermione's. She crossed her arms defensively.  
  
"I'm pregnant."  
  
A rough sound burst from the man, hardly recognizable as laughter, with an angry, hysterical edge. Hermione could only take a few moments of it; after the last few days to have Snape laugh was too much. With a wordless exclamation she strode quickly forward.  
  
Whether she would have shoved him or slapped him, she could not have said, but the man shrank back from her advance and stumbled, falling to the floor. The sudden flare of anger dampened as his laughter devolved into a rough cough that seemed to shake him to the core. Suddenly ashamed of herself, Hermione stood to one side as Dumbledore came to the fallen man's side and conjured a goblet of water.  
  
Hermione was as much shocked at his retreat as she was at the sudden realization of just how frail the man was. He only allowed Dumbledore to help him to his feet then immediately shook off the older wizard's help and ignored the proffered drink. Leaning on the table and swaying slightly, Snape managed a short bow towards her, barely more than a nod of his head.  
  
"My apologies, Miss Granger," he managed, in a hoarse voice that barely approximated his normal delivery. "I was not laughing at you; merely acknowledging Fate's tendency for endless capriciousness. You have regained your memories, then, I take it?"  
  
"No, sir," Hermione responded. "Professor Dumbledore has removed the charm, but the memories haven't surfaced yet. He had to tell me what happened after I went to Madame Pomfrey with what I thought was a case of the flu."  
  
Snape twitched, but did not reply, and continued to stare at the hem of her robes. For a moment Hermione thought she might have a rip or some other flaw in the material before she realized the most fearsome professor at Hogwarts was unable to look her in the face. Despite the lack of vindictiveness in her basic nature, she experienced just a flash of warmth to realize she held the whip hand, so to speak, over Severus Snape. She paused to wonder where that phrase had come from, and at the same time six and a half years of enduring his hateful remarks let her take just a long, delicious moment to revel in the sensation before her common sense and innate fairness squashed it forever.  
  
"Professor Snape, I know you're not well, but Professor Dumbledore says Madame Pomfrey cannot brew this potion on her own, and I don't wish to ask for Professor Cluny's help either."  
  
Snape cleared his throat with a harsh rasp. "I will assist in brewing the potion you require, Miss Granger, and do what I can to spare you the side effects. The Expirato is harsh, but much worse when improperly made. Now, if you will excuse me," he stated, and turned away with a touch of his usual sweep. Only four or five steps separated him from the chair he had occupied earlier, but Snape barely managed the distance before he all but collapsed in the chair.  
  
"Headmaster, will you see Miss Granger out, and speak to Poppy about the potion ingredients?" he questioned. His deep voice was thin and quavered just the smallest bit. As much as Hermione had been angry with him earlier, the visible evidence of Snape's infirmity was disturbing. Dumbledore murmured something in reply that Hermione did not catch before he came to her side, tucking her arm under his and leading her from the room.  
  
A final glance over her shoulder to the Potions Master showed the man leaning heavily to one side, his head propped on one hand while his fine black hair hung in lank disarray over his face. An aura pain and utter aloneness radiated from his gaunt body, and she was struck with a sudden stab of sympathy for a man who had never spoken a kind word to her in his life. 


	3. Chapter 3

By the end of Wednesday's Potion's class, Hermione's nerves were stretched to the point of screaming. Professor Cluny, and amiable if inept teacher, had assigned them a simple Liquifying potion, used for preparing other potion ingredients for later use in other concoctions. It had been part of their sixth year curriculum, and Hermione could have created in her sleep.  
  
While the other Gryffindors and Slytherins dawdled their way through the brewing process, she concentrated on her cauldron, chopping and stirring with a determined concentration that kept her thoughts occupied and off her situation. Across the room Draco Malfoy gave her a long look, apparently attempting to fluster her, but she ignored him and kept working. From the moment he'd seen Hermione's Head Girl's badge on the platform at King's Cross Station, Malfoy had changed his normal harassment methods to a subtle, lascivious manner that was as relentless as it was unwelcome. His endless innuendo and sly comments had escalated even further in the recent weeks, and given the revelations of the last few days, she was certain Malfoy Senior must have told his son some of what had occurred on Halloween.  
  
Her potion finished, she extinguished the flame to let it cool and dragged out her Runes textbook, but the printed words on the page could not keep the image of Severus Snape's wasted form out of her thoughts. Intense studying and her other duties had kept her mind occupied for the last few days, but here in Snape's domain, where the echo of his tense energy and vitriolic domination kept most of the students quiet and orderly in his Potions class, she could not control her thoughts. Lack of sleep didn't help either. Reading late into the evening until she was sure she'd fall asleep the moment she was under the covers had worked for the previous few nights, but it had been utterly useless last night. Lying in her darkened room with her hand on her flat stomach, she'd tried to imagine having a child.  
  
The nuns who had taught at her primary school had railed against abortion. On the other hand, the masses of unwashed, underfed, poor and miserable children in commercials begging money for charities across the world had led her to wonder if there might be another alternative for those women. At the time, however, she'd only been ten years old, and the subject had remained nothing more than an academic debate to her since she was too young to even be interested in sex.  
  
Now, however, she had been plunged directly into argument. A baby was growing inside her. Hermione had lain on her bed for more than an hour, running her hands over her belly. The undeniable fact that she had been violated remained an unreal and almost abstract concept, and the circumstances of how she became pregnant were only secondary to the fact that she was pregnant. The thought had come to her, just as she had drifted over the edge of sleep, that the child would almost have to be a whiz of a wizard at potions, given the respective genetic heritage. And she could always teach the child how to wash his hair.  
  
Loud scraping noises from stools on the flagstone floor startled her, and she hastily gathered her books together and stuffed them in the battered rucksack she'd carried since her first year at Hogwarts. Waiting for her chance to join the throng of exiting students, a gentle throat clearing behind her made her wilt.  
  
"Miss Granger?"  
  
Reluctantly Hermione turned back to Professor Cluny. "Yes, sir?"  
  
"This is a Potions class. I would appreciate it if you would study potions here. If you're unable to finish your other homework in time, I might suggest you cut back on your course load." From Snape it would have been scathing sarcasm; from Cluny it was regretful concern and nearly apologetic in tone. Hermione gave him a weak acknowledgement and left in the wake of her classmates.  
  
The heavy door of the Potions room had barely closed behind her when a strong hand grabbed her arm and a warm, hard body pushed her against the wall. "Hello, Mudblood. Lose something?"  
  
"Only my lunch, if you don't get away from me," she responded angrily. "Let go, Malfoy." She had to tilt her head far back to look into Draco's face; he'd shot up in height in the last two years and was nearly as tall as Ron these days. His aristocratic facial structure and platinum blond hair had many girls at Hogwarts fascinated with him; Hermione, however, was not one of them.  
  
"Oh, I don't think so, Granger," Malfoy drawled. "Your two playmates left you here, and now I've found you. I'm not sure you're worth keeping, but you could be fun to play with." His hand left her arm and began to slide up her chest, reminding her once more how tender her breasts had been over the past week.  
  
"Go play with yourself, Malfoy!" Hermione slapped at his hands, but he was taller and stronger than she, and she bit back a gasp as he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the cold stone by her head. His chest pushed against her as he kissed her ruthlessly, taking her by surprise. His tongue was hot as it slipped between her lips before he slid his open mouth against her jawline.  
  
"I know that traitor Snape has had you, Mudblood," he whispered. The sensation of his lips brushing the edge of her ear made her shiver, while his words terrified her. "I hear you're really good. And what's good for him is good for me." Malfoy emphasized his words with a thrust of his hips against hers, and Hermione's frozen shock suddenly erupted into fury. His ear was only inches away from her mouth, and as she sank her teeth into the tempting target, he let out a satisfying howl and jerked away from her.  
  
Hermione had her wand out in a flash, leveled at his crotch. "Twenty-five points from Slytherin, Malfoy, and I swear the next time you come near me I'll hex you so bad Madame Pomfrey will have to charm it back on before you can pee again!"  
  
Swiping at the blood dribbling down his neck, Draco shot her a look of pure venom. "Don't pretend you're too good for whoring, Granger. My father told me what a slut you are!"  
  
"Did he really?" Hermione demanded, shaking with rage. "What exactly did he say? Anything you want to repeat in front of a Ministry inquiry?"  
  
The contempt on his face flickered with just a touch of confusion before returning to his customary sneer. The Potions classroom door behind them opened suddenly, and they both swiftly adopted neutral expressions as Professor Cluny entered the corridor. He blinked at them, then smiled at Hermione, obviously sensing nothing amiss.  
  
"Ah, Miss Granger. Madame Pomfrey was just on the floo, asking if you were still here. She wanted you to come up to the Hospital wing."  
  
"Thank you, Professor. I'll be on my way, then. Unless there was something else I needed to explain to you, Draco?" she asked, sweet malice in her voice.  
  
Not waiting for him to answer, she hitched her bag over her shoulder and made her way to the staircase that led out of the dungeons. She kept her wand at the ready in the folds of her robes, but Malfoy made no move to follow her.  
  
Several long corridors and flights of stairs later, Hermione let herself into Madame Pomfrey's domain and stopped upon seeing Albus Dumbledore waiting for her. He was gazing out the tall mullioned windows, but turned when he heard the door open.  
  
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger. Are you feeling well?"  
  
It was an appropriately general question to ask anyone entering the Hospital wing in the middle of the afternoon, but she knew the Headmaster was asking specifically about her situation. She nodded. Dumbledore offered a sweet from the ever-present bag pulled from a pocket of his robes, which she refused, then asked her to sit down. Hermione sat and pushed her bag under the legs of the chair with the scuffed toe of her shoe.  
  
Looking around the room, answering Dumbledore's random comments with absent remarks of her own, her eyes were drawn to the neatly made bed at the end of the wing. A small table stood beside it, not unusual, but this table had a pewter goblet and a glass beaker of greenish fluid beside it, the tall sides beaded with condensation.  
  
The door marked Isolation Ward opened, and Poppy Pomfrey closed it swiftly behind her as she saw the other occupants of the larger room. Her no- nonsense gaze fell on Hermione, but her first words were for Dumbledore.  
  
"Professor Snape is resting, Albus. It was taxing for him, but I don't think he's made himself any worse. The potion is ready for you, Miss Granger."  
  
Obediently Hermione rose and followed Pomfrey to the waiting table and bed, while Dumbledore took her abandoned chair and laced his fingers together in his lap, his attitude one of patient waiting.  
  
Several screens rolled up at Pomfrey's summons and drifted into place around the cot. When she was satisfied with the placement of the screens, save the one that would close the patient off completely from the rest of the ward, the mediwitch placed a folded gown on the end of the bed. Next to it was a small pile of sanitary napkins, longer and wider than those supplied every month to the female students who had reached puberty.  
  
The green fluid gurgled quietly as Pomfrey poured it into the pewter goblet. Almost immediately a haze of condensation formed on the sides, indicating how cold the contents were.  
  
"You must drink this entirely, Miss Granger, as quickly as you can. When you're finished, I want you to put on this gown and get into bed." Pomfrey held out the goblet and Hermione took it automatically. The potion swirled in the container, bubbling at the edges where her fingers warmed the cold metal.  
  
From the moment Madame Pomfrey had announced she was pregnant, Hermione had felt as though she were surrounded in an odd, disconnected haze. Even Malfoy's near assault in the Potions hallway had not been as real, as immediate and dangerous as it should have. The only thing that seemed entirely tangible at this moment was the frigid goblet in her hand. Against that biting cold, the potential child in her womb, the possible potions genius, loomed large in her imagination.  
  
"I can't," she said quietly.  
  
Madame Pomfrey huffed in annoyance.  
  
"Miss Granger, you are seventeen years old."  
  
"Eighteen," corrected Hermione.  
  
"Eighteen then. The fact remains that you were not responsible for this pregnancy. No one could possibly think any less of you for taking that potion."  
  
Steady footsteps behind her caused her to turn around and see the wise, unassuming face of Dumbledore, who merely raised a single gray eyebrow.  
  
"Second thoughts, Miss Granger?"  
  
"I don't know why. I simply can't." Abruptly she pushed the cup back into Pomfrey's hand and walked in a small circle, feeling trapped between the two authority figures. She took a deep breath and tried to put her thoughts into order, trying to make sense of her feelings.  
  
"I've never really had an opinion on terminations before. It never seemed like something that concerned me. Ron's the only person I've ever thought about having as a lover, and I always thought I'd be clever enough to take precautions if I did."  
  
"You are eighteen, Miss Granger," Dumbledore commented mildly. "It is your decision whether or not to bear this child."  
  
Hermione crossed her arms under her breasts, noticing once more how tender they were. "Well. I've decided. To... go ahead and have the baby."  
  
Just saying the words made her feel as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She fairly sure that it was the opposite of how she should feel, considering the difficulties she was sure to encounter, but the slow smile growing on Professor Dumbledore's face made her feel even better about her decision.  
  
"For what it is worth, Hermione, I am heartily glad. A child is a blessing, regardless of the circumstances. You will have a difficult time ahead of you, there is no doubt, but be assured you have my full support and confidence in you." The smile grew until he positively beamed, and he patted her hand. "I'll be looking forward to seeing your child here at Hogwarts in eleven or so years."  
  
Dumbledore left her in Madame Pomfrey's care, who tutted as she poured the potion into a large phial and stoppered it. "This potion will only be effective for the next thirty-six hours, Miss Granger. If you change your mind after that it will need to be brewed fresh. And the risks of taking it go up quite severely the further along you get."  
  
"I won't change my mind," Hermione said firmly. She also knew from her reading that the potion was strictly discouraged after ten weeks of pregnancy, and she was already nine weeks along.  
  
The older woman insisted on pulling the screens together and giving her a full physical, which was more thorough than any Hermione had endured before. Once she was dressed again, Hermione was ushered into Madame Pomfrey's office, where the mediwitch consulted a calendar and declared that the baby would most likely make an appearance in late July or early August.  
  
"Being pregnant in the summer is a misery, my dear. The only advice I can give you is that you'll be so uncomfortable that you'll quite ready to have the entire thing over with by then. I think Mother Nature planned it that way, actually."  
  
Relieved that the baby would not be born until after she had completed her classes, Hermione mentioned as much to Madame Pomfrey. She received a long look in return.  
  
"This doesn't mean you're going to carry on as normal, Miss Granger. You'll have to make several adjustments. I'll send notes to your teachers, but the first change you'll make is no more potions testing. No dueling practices, no charms performed on you, and most definitely no transfigurations of your person. You're young and healthy, but turning yourself into a potted plant while you're pregnant is something not even Minerva would attempt. Far too dangerous."  
  
"Does this mean I won't be able to take Apparation lessons?" asked Hermione, horrified. "I've just started the class!"  
  
"Of course you won't," declared Madame Pomfrey. "Getting splinched during a pregnancy is just asking for a disaster. Absolutely out of the question."  
  
Ignoring Hermione's dismay, she gave the girl a bottle of vitamin potion to take every morning and a recommendation that she do some reading in the library. Finally, she stopped fussing and let Hermione gather her things, then surprised her completely by giving her a fond pat on the cheek. "Having a baby is a great deal of work, have no doubt about that, but it does has its rewards. Now then, just use your common sense, take care of yourself, and come back to see me every three weeks. It's been a long time since I've been a midwife, but I'm still certified. If any problems come up, we can get you to St. Mungo's in no time."  
  
Two steps away from the door, a thought crossed Hermione's mind and she stopped abruptly. Madame Pomfrey gave her a curious look.  
  
"Professor Snape," Hermione said in a bleak voice. "He ought to know."  
  
Pomfrey's lips pursed in thought, but she dismissed it. "He's resting now. I'll inform him of your decision later."  
  
Hermione's back stiffened. "I think I ought to tell him personally, don't you?"  
  
With a sniff, Madame Pomfrey gave in. Her heels clicked across the wooden floor as she led the way to the Isolation ward, where she told Hermione to wait a moment while she checked on the Professor. A few moments later she reappeared in the doorway and motioned Hermione to go through.  
  
The inner archway was open, the room beyond it as dark and dismal as it had been several days before. A black form sat in the same chair.  
  
"Professor Snape? May I speak to you, please?"  
  
"I can hardly prevent you, Miss Granger." For Snape, the curt remark was positively mild, but the fact that he would not face her still made her uneasy. "You should be lying down," he added. "The potion you drank will take effect within an hour."  
  
"I didn't take the potion."  
  
The dark man startled slightly, betrayed only by the slight tilt of his head. "That is extremely foolish, Miss Granger. You cannot be blamed for what happened to you, and you should not have to deal the consequences of that night. Do not let Gryffindor sentimentality cloud your judgement."  
  
"I didn't make this decision out of sentimentality or morality or anything other than my own wishes. Everyone keeps saying it's my decision, and I'm not going to change my mind. I simply wanted you to be aware of the fact."  
  
"And now that I am aware, what do you want of me?"  
  
Irritation flared, effectively killing any sympathy she had for the man. "I don't want anything from you, Professor. I'm not asking for anything, and I'm not expecting anything. Professor Dumbledore said that you had the right to know, and I agreed."  
  
"Have you considered, Miss Granger, that having a Deatheater's child is a sure invitation for calamity?"  
  
"I've no intention of letting anyone know who the father is, Professor Snape. I think we're both too squeamish for even part of the truth to be known."  
  
Snape nodded stiffly. Hermione turned to go, but turned back as another thought occurred to her.  
  
"Professor Snape?"  
  
"I'm tired, Miss Granger."  
  
"I wanted to ask you for your version of the events on Halloween night," she interrupted flatly.  
  
Silence greeted her words, and Snape hunched over himself even further. "Your memory will return, Miss Granger," he said after a moment. "I hardly see the point in rehashing history from my point of view."  
  
"I understand that this is difficult for you," she managed. "But no more so than for me."  
  
He glanced at her, then away. "What has Dumbledore told you?"  
  
"That I was taken by Deatheaters when I left the Three Broomsticks that afternoon. That you were summoned to join them, and Lucius Malfoy turned on you and cast an Imperious."  
  
Snape nodded. "That is, at its most basic, what happened. If you wish to know the more unsavory details, Miss Granger, my recommendation would be that you wait until your memory returns. I promise you that you will not regret having gone ignorant for a longer period - in fact, you may well wish you had never regained your memories of that night."  
  
"It's just that I don't remember anything. I simply woke up the other day. and found I was going to have a baby."  
  
"And I tell you again that that is a preferable option. Is that all, Miss Granger?"  
  
"No, sir, it is not," she snapped, stung by his dismissal. "If you're going to turn into a dishrag, kindly do so and get it out of your system. There's a war on."  
  
"So I've heard," he replied in a colorless voice. Hermione was shocked at her own outburst, but plunged on.  
  
"I also wanted to tell you that I don't blame you for anything you did that night. Professor Dumbledore told me that you were under an Imperious curse, and aren't responsible for your actions. After some thought, I have come to agree with him. I may not have liked you much, but I've always respected you. Don't think I've changed my mind, whatever has happened."  
  
Another stiff nod acknowledged her outburst. With as much dignity as she could muster, Hermione left the ward, unconsciously mimicking his trademark sweep. As she passed Madame Pomfrey the older woman gave her a scandalized glance, but Hermione ignored her on her way out the door.  
  
Long after she had left, Severus Snape stared at the empty doorway, lost in thought. 


	4. Chapter 4

"I couldn't believe my ears, Albus!" continued Madame Pomfrey, waving away the proffered bag of lemon drops and instead taking the cup of tea from the table in front of her. "You should have heard the girl. No respect at all!"  
  
Dumbledore made several polite and noncommittal noises as he poured himself another cup of tea and listened to the mediwitch continue to vent her outrage. When she took a sip of her own and offered him the opening, Dumbledore changed the subject by asking how her patient had taken Hermione's comments.  
  
"Oh, he took it well. Better than I would have expected, all things considered, and an improvement on his usual silences. I quite expected him to snap at her." Getting only another "hmm" in reply, Pomfrey was ready to snap at her employer. "Don't just sit there and hum at me, Albus. We must do something about Severus."  
  
"You're correct, of course, Poppy. And we will. Severus without his temper is a very dull boy."  
  
"I'm worried about his health, not his temper."  
  
"I believe they are intimately related, dear lady, perhaps even more so than I previously suspected."  
  
Pomfrey harrumphed this time, and sipped at her tea. Arguing with Dumbledore was more frustrating that arguing with a malingering first year with a test to avoid. "I suppose you're going to tell me I've been coddling him too much."  
  
"No, not at all. It's your job to coddle your patients. But the fact remains that Severus is not getting any better. His mental state is adversely affecting his recovery and you know that as well as I do. It is my devout hope that becoming a father before the year is out may give him the will to recover."  
  
"Don't count on it," came the tart reply. "He made it rather clear this afternoon that he has no intention in claiming responsibility for this child. Hermione Granger will be raising a fatherless bastard."  
  
The mild censure in Dumbledore's face caused her to put down her teacup with a clatter. "Oh, don't give me that look, Albus. You can sit here and make all the noises you want about how wonderful it is to have a baby, but I wager you've never been up at all hours changing nappies and walking a colicky infant around the floor. Miss Granger will be doing those things, and she'll be doing it alone. Her academic career will come to a screeching halt amid diapers and spit-up and teething rings, and all the while the entire wizarding community will be turning their noses up at her for having a child out of wedlock."  
  
"Really, Poppy. You paint a very bleak picture of Miss Granger's future."  
  
"It is a bleak future, as you well know. Add to the mix the fact the prejudice she'll encounter as a Muggle-born and I can't imagine a more hopeless situation for a young woman to find herself."  
  
"Well, then," murmured Dumbledore into his teacup. "We'll have to see what we can arrange, won't we?"  
  
Madame Pomfrey shot him a suspicious glance, but the Headmaster returned an innocent look and changed the subject.  
  
*****  
  
Tired beyond bearing and still slightly shocked at her own rudeness to Severus Snape, Hermione trudged to her rooms and muttered the password to the portrait that guarded the Head Girl's dormitory. The suites reserved for the Head Girl and Head Boy were situated near the Prefect's baths and not far from the traditional staff quarters since the students who were chosen for those positions needed to be available to all students and teachers. She missed living in Gryffindor tower, but still spent a good deal of time in the beloved red and gold common room with Harry and Ron. After six years of sharing quarters with others, she found studying in her rooms almost too quiet.  
  
At this moment, however, she very much wanted to be alone, and shut her door behind her with a sigh of relief. Crookshanks rose from his chair and stretched, mrrwing in greeting and making his way over for a scratch. He didn't object when Hermione scooped him up and held him close to her chest.  
  
"Crooks, I'm a complete idiot. You do know that, don't you?"  
  
The cat tilted his squashed face up to hers and narrowed his eyes in leisurely good will, purring madly.  
  
"No, you don't think I'm an idiot. After all, I feed you and take care of you, so you love me, right? You think that's all there is to it?"  
  
The ginger lump in her arms didn't answer. With another sigh Hermione collapsed onto her bed and held her familiar close.  
  
"I'm going to have a baby," she whispered into the soft fur under her chin. "I've no idea what I'm doing, and I'm scared to death."  
  
Unconcerned with his witch's confessions, Crookshanks butted his head against her hand and rolled on his back to invite more petting. Hermione obliged him, cooing nonsense and letting him sooth her nerves. When she had relaxed into a boneless heap, lulled into a peaceful calm by the nonstop purr, the cat abruptly sat up and gave her a long, hard stare.  
  
Bemused, Hermione lifted her head to stare back. The golden eyes met hers, unblinking, for several long moments. Finally he gave her a small nod and turned with a flip of his tail to jump down and disappear into the en suite bath that was one of the better perks of being Head Girl.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" she called out, even though she had some idea. Crookshanks had once again demonstrated his superior intelligence and cat logic by showing her that since she was quite capable of looking after him satisfactorily, then surely a baby couldn't present much difficulty. "Right," she called out, not even sure if the cat was listening. "If you think there's any comparison between the two, you're out of your mind." She paused. "And I'm talking to a cat. Ron's right. I am mental."  
  
Dragging herself to her abandoned rucksack and rummaging for her homework and quills, she added, "At least I'm not talking to myself."  
  
*****  
  
Over the course of the next several days, Hermione did what she did best: research. The library at Hogwarts was extensive, but the section on human reproduction was rather slim. She did learn that her currently trim waistline would be a thing of the past by the time she was five months along, but the fatigue she was currently enduring would fade. Her best estimate gave her another month after that until her pregnancy would be obvious even under her school robes. Which gave her a few months to come up with a believable lie about the father, but somewhat less time to write to her parents and let them know they would soon be grandparents. She had little fear they would reject her and her child, rather, her anxiety was more focused on the fact they would use the situation to pressure her to leave the world of magic behind to attend Muggle university.  
  
The medical text she found on labor and delivery was enough to give her the willies for days, devoted as it was to footling breech deliveries, umbilical cords wrapped around portions of the child's anatomy, and various other disasters, all described in full detail and often accompanied by color plates with lurid descriptions. A list of questions for Madame Pomfrey grew at a rapid pace.  
  
A knock on the door startled her and she shoved the book under a stack of essays before she answered it. A short young girl she didn't recognize but who could not have been above a third year student thrust a folded slip of parchment at her and mumbled something about Madame Pomfrey before she scuttled off.  
  
Intrigued, Hermione opened the note and recognized the neat handwriting as Madame Pomfrey's. The note also included a list of ingredients, and asked if she would go immediately to Professor Cluny and bring the items up to the Hospital wing. Her classmates might have recognized dragon heartstring and foxglove as standard for heart tonics, but few of them would have realized the dried hawthorn flowers and salicylic acid were also strong components of a potion to strengthen and heal a damaged heart.  
  
It suddenly occurred to her that Professor Dumbledore might have had a heart attack. In a flurry she threw on her school robes and shoved her feet into her shoes before flying out the door. In the main hall she slowed, not wanting to cause a scene. The Head Girl pelting full tilt down to the Potions classroom would only cause unwanted speculation. If the Headmaster were truly ill, Madame Pomfrey wouldn't want to advertise that fact.  
  
Cluny was in the middle of teaching a first year class, but paused in mid- lecture when Hermione slid into the classroom. When she explained her errand for Madame Pomfrey, the professor merely handed her his keyring and waved her towards the storeroom.  
  
The trusting act merely underscored once more the difference between Snape and Cluny; Snape kept the storeroom locked at all times and trusted no-one in there without his presence. Truthfully Hermione couldn't blame the man since some of the things stored on the long, narrow shelves were either exorbitantly expensive, horrifically dangerous, or in some cases, both. Once inside, she shut the door to block out Cluny's droning voice and to momentarily indulge the thrill she always felt in surveying the neat, orderly rows of glass bottles and small boxes, the ceiling festooned with dried bunches of herbs. She loved the possibilities that hovered, just a cauldron away, among the many ingredients that surrounded her.  
  
Several minutes passed as she retrieved the items on Pomfrey's list, double- checking her quantities and labeling each of the paper screws or small vials with names and measurements. When she'd finished, she locked up and returned the keys to Cluny, who pocketed them and bid her good day with barely a pause in his monologue.  
  
Once back in the upper reaches of the castle, Hermione hurried a bit, the small basket she'd appropriated tucked under one arm as she climbed to the Hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was in her office, but rose and beckoned as soon as she caught sight of her.  
  
"Wonderful, Miss Granger," the mediwitch declared, taking the basket and sorting through the contents. "Thank you so much for your immediate attention to this." The older witch led the way past her office door to what Hermione had always assumed was a supply closet. Once unlocked, it turned out to be a small laboratory with two tall windows letting in light from the courtyard outside. Everything was neatly put away, but subtle details called her attention to them. The burner ring under the largest cauldron was tarnished, with accumulations of ash that would cause the flame to burn unevenly. The rack of supplies had a dark curtain fastened across the front of it, but dust on the folds showed the fabric had been pulled aside and left there for some time. Many ingredients aged prematurely when exposed to light, and Hermione cringed at the thought of it.  
  
At the far end of the workbench, however, near a tall stool, a smaller cauldron and other pieces of equipment there were laid out in a different pattern. As easily as one might recognize a particular artist's work, Hermione could see the hand of Snape in the angle of the glass pipettes and the layout of the workspace.  
  
"Is Professor Dumbedore going to be all right?" Hermione asked. She received a blank look in return, and immediately realized she'd let her imagination get the best of her. "Sorry. I thought these might be for the Headmaster."  
  
"No, Albus is fine, dear. These are actually for Severus."  
  
"Professor Snape has had a heart attack?" Hermione asked, stunned.  
  
"No such thing. His heart was damaged the night... his heart has been damaged by a splinter from a broken rib, and it is somewhat inclined to sulk. Rather like its owner."  
  
Hermione blinked at the spoken words that closely approximated her own thought, then blinked again at imagining what kind of injury would drive a splinter of bone into a man's heart.  
  
"I heard that," came a deep voice. The two witches whirled to see Severus Snape leaving heavily against the doorframe. If anything, he looked even worse than he had several days previously.  
  
"Good. Then we can discuss the preparations for the Vie de la Couer Elixer."  
  
"Discuss all you wish, Madame. I have already explained to why I do not trust those chicken scratches. We agreed not to brew it."  
  
"You agreed, Severus. Doctor Hazelton is a very old and trusted colleague of mine. He's served the patients of St. Mungo's for years. This," and she swept up a piece of parchment from the workbench and shook it at him, "is the best chance we have of dissolving that bone splinter and strengthen your heart."  
  
"Hazelton is a quack and I wouldn't feed his potions to a dog. Unless it was Sirius Black, of course," he added as an afterthought. "You forget I've studied with the man. He couldn't create a new potion for all the gold in Gringotts."  
  
"This isn't one he created, Severus. It's a translation from a Beauxbatons master."  
  
Snape cut her off. "And that's supposed to be reassuring!"  
  
As they continue to argue, Hermione snagged the parchment from Madame Pomfrey's hand and read it over quickly, then again, slowly.  
  
"This should work," she ventured, interrupting the two.  
  
Snape gave her a long, hostile look. "And when did you earn your Potions Mistress Diploma, Miss Granger?"  
  
"Have you read it?" she returned coolly.  
  
Snape took the few steps towards her to reach her, then listed suddenly to one side. Fortunately the stool was close, and he managed to catch himself and sit. Hermione relinquished the parchment when he held out one hand imperiously.  
  
His dark eyes flicked over the text much the same as her own had. Blue veins traced across the pale skin at his temples and Hermione swallowed as she considered how very ill the man in front of her was.  
  
"This might work," he admitted at last. "But I don't have the strength to cast the incantation." He said it as if he were only stating a simple truth, but Hermione could see that without drastic intervention Severus Snape would die in the very near future.  
  
"I will cast the spell, Severus. All you need is to sit there and help me through the brewing."  
  
"Leave it, Poppy. Just.leave it."  
  
Hermione had heard that exact tone of quiet resolution before. More than once she and Ron had had to deal with Harry Potter's fatalistic acceptance of his supposedly doomed existence. Pushing aside her unsettled feelings towards the man, she cleared her throat to catch his attention and deliberately put a little sting into her voice.  
  
"Professor, regardless of how you perceive your place in this world, I must admit that I think it's a better world for your existence rather than your absence. I suggest you give it at least a try before abandoning all hope."  
  
A familiar sardonic glint began to burn in Snape's black pupils. "Miss Granger, if you insist on dragging in maudlin sentiment more suited to a new Hufflepuff and tell me the world is happier for my being in it, I shall be violently ill."  
  
That's not what I said, and you're already ill." she answered back in the same tone. "I said it was better. Perhaps I should clarify and say more interesting. I certainly wouldn't use the word happy in reference to you, sir. I simply think your existence makes things more interesting. But then again, I like my strawberries with balsamic vinegar, so there you have it."  
  
Despite himself, Snape paused, considering her words.  
  
He'd never been compared to vinegar before, but the simile was oddly appealing. The best balsamic vinegar was dark, viscous and held more varied flavors than the finest wines. Blended over the years and aged in ancient casks, it was fragrant and added an appealing bite to everything it mixed with. A highly romanticized and incredibly Gryffindor thing to say.  
  
"I'll take the potion," he conceded finally. "But I want you to brew it."  
  
"Me? Don't be stupid. Madame Pomfrey is a licensed mediwitch."  
  
"And I trust your abilities more than I do hers," he interrupted flatly. "You have an affinity for potions I have not seen in a decade, Miss Granger. You will know if the potion is effective before you even finish it."  
  
Hermione turned an appealing look towards Pomfrey, but the woman merely shrugged. "He's right, my dear. To tell the truth, I've never been anything but average when it comes to potions making."  
  
Glancing back at Snape, who remained propped against the workbench and was once again refusing to look at her, Hermione could only acquiesce. "If Professor Snape is willing to coach me, I'll do my best."  
  
"Excellent," announced Madame Pomfrey. "The last thing we need is a good burgundy to form the base. Albus doesn't know it yet, but his wine cellar really will be used for medicinal purposes tonight." With those words and a swish of her robes, the witch left.  
  
Leaving Hermione alone with Severus Snape. 


	5. Chapter 5

At Madame Pomfrey's exit, pure silence settled into the small laboratory. Even Snape's breathing was silent, though Hermione could see his chest rising and falling in shallow respiration when she stole a quick glance at him. The man seemed absorbed in the view of the courtyard out the tall windows. When she looked, Hermione could see nothing other than the grassy square where Madame Hooch taught first years how not to crash on their first brooms.  
  
To distract herself, Hermione reached out and retrieved the parchment from beside Snape's arm. The light scraping noise and the sudden movement startled him badly, and in return his reaction startled her. The apology died in her throat, however, as he let out a hiss and pressed the heel of his hand into his pectoral muscle, eyes closed against the sudden pain. Worse was the way his already pale lips turned a bluish-gray as they parted over his clenched teeth.  
  
"Professor! Are you all right?"  
  
Unable to speak, Snape hunched his shoulders and rode out the pain. Below the ringing in his ears he could hear Hermione calling his name, then for Madame Pomfrey, but there was nothing to be done but try to keep his lungs working while enduring the waves of subsiding agony that accompanied each beat of his heart.  
  
As the tightness eased, he realized Hermione Granger's hands were on his shoulders, and were if fact the only thing keeping him from keeling over completely. There was nothing he loathed so much as helplessness, and for her of all people to see him like this was beyond humiliating. The concern in her face when he so little deserved it was even more galling.  
  
"I'll be fine, Miss Granger," he managed, forcing his uncooperative body upright and away from her, the receding pain making his tone bitter. "I don't need any help from you."  
  
Whether he had intended to emphasize his words just that way or not, Hermione stiffened as if slapped. "Very well, Professor. If you find my presence so repulsive, I will relieve you of it."  
  
Snape could have kicked himself. The very sight of Hermione Granger was like sandpaper to his already strung-out nerves, but he had not intended to offend her further. "Miss Granger!" he called to her retreating back. She paused, but did not turn around.  
  
"Miss Granger," he repeated, doing his best to keep from sounding like a total ass. "On the contrary. Your presence is merely excruciating." Severus pressed on, knowing he had to say this while he still had the chance. For over two months the memory of Halloween night had haunted him, waking and sleeping, replacing his usual nightmares with lurid recreations of what had happened. The guilt that threatened to drown him in the middle of the night rose again, choking him, and he cleared his throat roughly. "I can only marvel at the courage it must take for you to be even remotely civil to the man who is the cause of your present condition."  
  
It was the first mention of her pregnancy he'd made since he'd learned of its existence, but her reply surprised him.  
  
"Lucius Malfoy is the cause of my condition."  
  
"He is not the man who raped you and got you with child," he stated bluntly. "I did that."  
  
Hermione half-turned in the doorway, leaning her back against the frame. "You're only the tool he used. I told you, don't hate you, Professor." She swallowed hard, and crossed her arms defensively over her breasts. "You forget that Ginny Weasley is one of my closest friends. Every fall, just before school starts up, she has loads of nightmares about that damned Chamber of Secrets, and Lucius Malfoy can be thanked for that as well."  
  
She turned around finally, her face as stern and proud as Boadicea. "One day he's going to pay for what he's done. I just hope I'm there to see it."  
  
"As do I, Miss Granger." He cautiously took a few deeper breaths, feeling the pain in his chest ease a little more. Silence again fell between them, but the former tension had evaporated. Looking at Hermione carefully, he noted the circles under her eyes and the stray tendrils of curly hair that had escaped from the band at the nape of her neck.  
  
"Please. Sit down," he asked, indicating the other stool tucked into the corner of the room. She retrieved it and set it at the end of the workbench, seating herself carefully and tucking her robes around her.  
  
"The last time we spoke, you asked me for an accounting. I was rather short with you. I apologize. I realize you have every right to demand the information you asked for."  
  
"I wasn't demanding," she protested mildly.  
  
"No. Even more reason for me to tell you the truth, as I know it. You are aware I've been a double agent for some time, correct?"  
  
Hermione nodded. He paused, then began talking to the surface of the table, both unable and unwilling to look at her while he spoke.  
  
"The night you were kidnapped. Lucius Malfoy requested my presence at a remote holding of his. We - the senior Deatheaters - had met there on several occasions to plan - our activities. Once I arrived, he outlined his intention to violate and murder you, leaving your body near the front gates of Hogwarts as a message to Dumbledore."  
  
Still stumbling slightly over various words, he stared intently at the far wall as he continued in a dispassionate voice. "When I proved less than enthusiastic for his plan, he turned on me. I was caught unaware, and Malfoy cast an Imperius curse on me." Snape snorted dryly. "I had invested nearly three years convincing Voldemort of my sincere devotion, winning a place in his inner circle, only to have someone more ambitious stab me in the back for my place of power."  
  
"Harry can resist the Imperius," Hermione commented. "I thought you would have enough self control to be able to resist."  
  
"After a moment, yes. But the delay was enough for his leviathan cronies to add their Imperius to his. Goyle and Crabbe are as stupid as their offspring, but they are a dab hand at the casting of the Unforgivables. I was commanded to... assault you."  
  
Snape swallowed harshly. Dumbledore had been his confessor for so many years, it was at once more painful and yet oddly liberating to say these things without the Headmaster, however well-meaning, as an audience. "After providing their. entertainment, my continued existence was no longer desired. They attempted to kill me, but not surprisingly, proved incompetent at that as well."  
  
Hermione frowned. "How did we escape?"  
  
"I have no idea, Ms. Granger. I was unconscious at the time." When she opened her mouth to protest, he continued, cutting her off. "I know only that the two of us appeared at the Three Broomsticks, and were taken to Hogwarts to receive medical attention. I would surmise that you somehow saved my life, for which I should be more grateful than I am."  
  
"I saved your life?" she asked, amazed. He nodded.  
  
The saturnine man fell silent, and Hermione sat at the table, watching him. How much time passed, she did not know, but she finally stirred. "Professor... I realize you must find this -- our situation -- very awkward. Personally I find the entire thing ridiculous when I'm not caught in the grips of panic, myself."  
  
Another soft snort let her know he saw the humor of her comment. "I've told you, I don't remember anything, and I'm beginning to wonder if I ever will. You should know I've been thinking about this and if you did - what you did - under an Imperius curse, then your guilt is unnecessary."  
  
If it had been anyone else, any subject less volatile, Hermione might have put her hand on his arm. As it was, the best she could do was flattened her palm on the table near his. "As far as I'm concerned, I woke up pregnant. Malfoy's the only one I blame."  
  
Snape glanced down at the small hand next to his own, and when he spoke, it was for once completely devoid of sarcasm or the self-loathing that had so typified his earlier conversations. "Thank you, Miss Granger. I do not deserve your compassion, but... thank you."  
  
"Madame Pomfrey?" queried a young voice from the outer room.  
  
Snape stiffened. "Go. None of the students should know I'm here."  
  
Hermione agreed quickly and left the laboratory, closing the door behind her. In the main ward, a second-year Ravenclaw boy was clutching his arm and trying very hard not to let his lower lip quiver. A staircase had decided to move while he was rushing down it and he'd lost his footing, tumbling down the last few treads and crashing to the floor on his elbow.  
  
A quick rummage through the cabinets produced a small towel, which wasn't the ice bag she'd been looking for but still held the ice cubes she summoned with her wand. A short time later, Madame Pomfrey returned to find the boy carefully wiggling his fingers while Hermione held the makeshift compress to his elbow. The dusty wine bottle Pomfrey had liberated from Dumbledore's private stock was thrust into Hermione's hands while the mediwitch took possession of the bag of ice.  
  
Wishing she were even half so adept at her wand work, Hermione watched while Pomfrey performed several diagnostic charms and determined the exact nature and extent of the boy's injury. She knew the other woman had several more decades of experience but couldn't help but wonder how long it would take to reach the same level of competence.  
  
"There you are," Pomfrey assured the boy as she put a sling around the boy's arm. "Just a sprain. It will be sore for a day or two, but I've charmed most of the swelling down and you'll be right as rain by tomorrow morning."  
  
"Thank you Madame Pomfrey," the boy said politely, and did his best to keep from looking a bit pleased at the visible evidence of his injury. Hermione hid a smile at his reaction; no doubt he'd be the center of attention at the dinner table that evening.  
  
After ushering the boy from the ward, Madame Pomfrey sent the wet, icy towel towards the laundry cart with a flick of her wand, then gave Hermione a long look. "That was excellent thinking, Miss Granger. Thank you for watching over things while I was gone."  
  
"It's just Muggle first aid. Not complicated."  
  
"No. But wizard-born children are used to having things taken care of right away. Ever thought about becoming a mediwitch?"  
  
Hermione was pleased with the implied compliment, but shook her head. "No. I'm really interested in so many things I haven't yet made up my mind what to specialize in."  
  
"Well," Madame Pomfrey said stoutly, repossessing the wine bottle, "if Severus trusts you to brew this elixir for him, you must be good at potions. You were a godsend when the students all brought the influenza back to school with them."  
  
"I did get three owls for Potions," Hermione admitted. She did not add that just this year, before his 'sabbatical' began, Snape had allowed her to brew several of the more advanced recipes listed in her "Preparing for Your Newts" book. His inability to find any errors in her work had been a personal triumph, especially when he'd announced that the potions shouldn't be wasted and ordered her to bottle them for future use.  
  
Snape was still sitting at the worktable when the two women came back into the laboratory. From somewhere he'd dug up several sheets of foolscap and was filling one with ratio equations and other notes in his distinctive slashing handwriting. He cut off whatever greeting Madame Pomfrey had begun to offer and began issuing instructions.  
  
"You'll want the silver cauldron from my office, Miss Granger. This iron bucket here will react to the tannic acid in the wine and throw the entire mixture off balance."  
  
Madame Pomfrey was slightly surprised to see Hermione join Severus Snape and peruse his notes without a trace of their earlier hostility; but then again she'd never witnessed Hermione's reaction to a new and intriguing problem.  
  
"I'll get a set of glass implements as well," she volunteered. "Though a steel knife should be fine for chopping things up. Or does the dragon heartstring need to be cut with a flint blade?"  
  
"Possibly. The incantation isn't entirely solid in that area. Perhaps if the verb tense were changed; it seems it varies depending on whether it's addressing the aorta or the ventricle."  
  
Bemused, Pomfrey set the bottle of wine down without another word and let them carry on. She had several tasks of her own to complete, including the need to update her latest patient's chart and gather together the last few issues of the Daily Prophet which were scattered across her desk.  
  
Neither Severus nor Hermione noticed her leave.  
  
As the last of her nervousness evaporated under their apparent truce, Hermione became completely engrossed in the intricacies of the elixir recipe. Her previous experiments had all been suggested from the standard Potions textbook, and had consisted of her making guesses and presenting Snape with the completed product for him to pass judgement. This time she was working with him, actually involved in the complex adjustments and the explanations of what worked and what did not from a true master. It was fascinating.  
  
They worked through the list of ingredients one at a time, comparing the attributes of each alone and in combination with others. Most of the standard uses were obvious, but in passing Snape let drop some small tidbits that were not listed in the book. For instance, dragon heartstring stewed in a gold cauldron was the basis for creating an envy potion strong enough to drive most men insane. If Snape's comment were to be believed, jealous witches had added one of their own hairs and brewed it for their unfaithful husbands for centuries.  
  
"Maybe that's why goblins love gold so much," Hermione commented, then mentally steeled herself for one of his sarcastic comments.  
  
"Perhaps," Snape allowed, and immediately moved on to the next item.  
  
By the time they had completed all the preliminary decisions and decided on the exact words of the incantation, Hermione's stomach was growling and Snape was getting gray around the mouth. Madame Pomfrey was not happy with either of them when she entered with a sandwich on a tray for Hermione.  
  
"That's enough, the both of you. Miss Granger, you've missed dinner, so you'll eat this before you go. Severus, you're for bed, and I'll hear no argument."  
  
"Oh, no," groaned Hermione, looking for and not seeing a clock on the walls. "I was supposed to meet Ginny to do some studying tonight."  
  
"Enough for today, Miss Granger," Snape told her. "Loathe as I am to admit Poppy is correct, neither one of us is capable of clear thought now. You have classes all day tomorrow, do you not?"  
  
"Yes, but it's just potions in the morning."  
  
"Just potions?" he echoed pointedly.  
  
"Yes," she replied evenly, refusing to react to his challenging emphasis.  
  
"Very well then. In the morning. Madame Pomfrey will do doubt invent a plausible excuse for. who is it again?"  
  
"Professor Cluny."  
  
"Geoffrey Cluny?" He asked sharply.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"I see," he said in arctic tones. Refusing to say another word, Snape left his stool and walked slowly to the door, where Madame Pomfrey slipped an uncompromising arm under his elbow and steered him towards the hidden ward.  
  
Left alone, Hermione bemusedly ate her sandwich as she tidied the sheaf of notes spread across the worktable and made herself a list of things to retrieve from the dungeons. Once Pomfrey had bore witness that she had indeed finished her sandwich, she slung her worn bookbag over one shoulder and wandered up to Gryffindor tower.  
  
"What was that, dear?" inquired the Fat Lady when Hermione yawned in the middle of supplying the password.  
  
She repeated it, wishing she had half her normal energy. The fatigue that had lead to the discovery of her pregnancy came and went, but usually hit her the worst right after dinner.  
  
Inside the common room, the comfortable red and gold furniture was dotted with students, but she didn't spy Ginny's vivid red hair among the throng. Asking if anyone had seen her proved fruitless, so Hermione found a sofa corner and dug out her Arithmancy book.  
  
In what seemed like only moments, Harry Potter was shaking her shoulder and telling her to wake up. She sat up with a jerk, and blinked at the fire, which had been burning brightly when she'd sat down. Now it was little more than a pile of gray and red coals, and the room was almost empty.  
  
"Are you finally awake?" Harry asked her with concern. "Where have you been? You were supposed to meet Ginny right after classes this afternoon."  
  
Hermione stretched luxuriously in the warm spot her body had created on the sofa. "Well, the two of you seemed to have found something to do," she commented, noting the purple spot on his neck. "Had a good snog, did you?"  
  
Harry flushed at this; his relationship with Ginny Weasley had continued despite all his efforts to convince her she'd be safer if it were otherwise. The girl possessed the Weasley stubbornness in full measure and steadfastly refused to believe Harry's protests, and had at last stormed Harry's final defenses. In surrender to the inevitable, he was happier than Hermione had ever known him to be.  
  
"Yes, thank you," he managed with some dignity. "Ginny's already gone to bed. It's nearly curfew."  
  
Panicked, Hermione glanced around to see that Harry was telling the truth. The only students still in the room were some sixth-years practicing some of the more complicated levitation skills and the Creevy brothers playing with their newest camera.  
  
"Oh, damn. I haven't even started on my homework," Hermione complained. "I can't believe I fell asleep."  
  
"Are you feeling all right these days?  
  
"I'm just really tired, Harry. It's nothing."  
  
Harry's vivid green eyes gave her a penetrating look. "You're been tired a lot the last few weeks, Hermione, and last week you bawled on me for half an hour. What's really going on?"  
  
It could only be her fatigue that let the words slip out. "I'm pregnant."  
  
"Holy." With a whosh, Harry let out a breath and slid down to sit beside her. "Have you told Ron yet?"  
  
"It's not Ron's baby."  
  
Harry stared at her. "Not Ron's. then who?"  
  
"Harry. if I tell you, you've got to promise me you won't lose your temper." The Boy Who Lived was generally regarded as mild person, but his closest friends knew how volatile he could be when properly provoked.  
  
"That depends on who it is, Hermione."  
  
Blinking, Hermione stared into the grate as she tried to find the right words. "Last Halloween... I was coming back from Hogsmeade. They put someone under an Imperius, and he was ordered to."  
  
She broke off as Harry stood abruptly and took a step towards the fireplace. "Does Snape know? About the baby?" he demanded.  
  
Taken aback, she merely stared at him. Harry smiled without humor. "I'd heard that Snape had been at a dark revel of some sort on Halloween night, and that something went terribly wrong. Dumbledore told me he was nearly killed, but he never told me you were involved. That's something he will explain to me, I promise you."  
  
The annoyed confidence in his voice shocked Hermione completely, and her expression must have shown it. Harry explained patiently.  
  
"Dumbledore's been keeping me up to date on almost everything that happens in the fight against Voldemort. He has since the first day of term. I think he's training me to be his heir, if something happens to him."  
  
"Harry! How can he expect you to take on that much responsibility? That's nonsense!"  
  
"And who else are people going to look to if something happens to Dumbledore? Fudge?" Harry snorted derisively. "After all, I'm the Boy Who Lived, remember?"  
  
Hermione could not stop staring. She'd seen flashes of Harry taking control in situations before, but she'd somehow missed seeing how his confidence had grown over the past few years. Harry shook his head dismissively and sat down beside her again, taking her hand.  
  
"We're not talking about me. We're talking about you. Are you going to. get rid of it?"  
  
"No." Hermione took a sudden breath and let it out quickly. "Seriously considered it, but I changed my mind."  
  
"So what are you going to do?" he asked carefully.  
  
"I don't know." It was a humiliating confession; Hermione Granger was supposed to be a know-it-all. She could feel tears prickling again, and Harry put an arm around her.  
  
"You were going to try to get your Potions Mistress award right after school, weren't you? How can you go to school and take care of a baby?"  
  
"I don't know! Honestly, Harry, please stop badgering me! I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm going to have a baby and try to go to school at the same time. I don't know where I'm going to live, or who's going to watch the baby while I'm in class. maybe I should just give it up for adoption."  
  
"Have you thought about getting married?"  
  
"Harry!" she protested in outrage. "This isn't the eighteen hundreds!"  
  
"It might as well be, Hermione! Look around, next time you're in Diagon Alley, or even Hogsmeade. An unmarried witch having a baby simply isn't done!"  
  
"So I should get married, then? To whom? You? Ginny would kill us both."  
  
"There's Ron."  
  
"Oh, please," she said rudely. "I'd rather marry Neville."  
  
Harry gave her a sidelong glance. "I hate to say this, but if Snape's the father, maybe you should marry him and get him to help you."  
  
Hermione wasn't sure if she should laugh or scream. "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd encourage anyone to marry Severus Snape. Besides, it wasn't as though it were his idea to do this to me. I'm hardly going to ask him to empty his pension fund to support me!"  
  
Harry gave her an odd look.  
  
"You don't understand, Harry," she continued despondently. "IF I ever marry, I want it to be something like my parents. They're mad for each other, even after more than twenty years. I want something like that, not some quick fix that will end up making us both miserable."  
  
"All right, don't get married. But Hermione - this is a wizard's world. They don't have public assistance. If you went Muggle, you could get on the dole or something, or maybe your parents could help you out."  
  
Oh, Lord," Hermione groaned suddenly. "I still need to tell my parents about all this."  
  
"Or maybe," Harry continued inexorably, "maybe I could give you a hand. I've got some money."  
  
"Harry," she asked, "do you have any idea what you're going to do when you graduate? Where you're going to live?" Unaccountably, laughter bubbled up out of nowhere and she grinned at him. "One story in the Prophet about you and me and this baby and we'll all be ducking howlers for weeks!" Feeling better about everything just for having gotten it off her chest, Hermione gathered her things and stuffed them back into her bag.  
  
"Seriously, Harry. Thank you, but don't bother. I'll figure something out." Impulsively she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You work on how to tell the Weasley brothers you're shagging their little sister, and I'll worry about the baby."  
  
"I'm not shagging Ginny!" he protested. 


	6. Chapter 6

Only moments after Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table the next morning, a small brown school owl arrived. It fluttered onto her plate and helped itself to some of her toast, which was all that was she was eating, then left her with the urgent note from Madame Pomfrey claiming her services for the Hospital wing.  
  
Harry gave her a look when she feigned puzzlement at the summons, but Ron made a rude noise and told her not to be thick. "It's obvious, isn't it? Probably wants something a headache potion brewed or something, and doesn't want Cluny mucking it up. Give it here--we'll be sure Cluny knows where you've gone."  
  
His long arm reached across the table and appropriated the note, but before she could say thank you he'd returned to his breakfast and his discussion with Harry over the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Ron had made the team in his fifth year and was, if anything, an even more fervent fan of the sport than ever before.  
  
"Well. I'd better go, then," she told him, and received a grunt in reply in the middle of a tactical description.  
  
Glad she'd at least gotten some response, Hermione gathered her books and left the table, once more struck by the loss of what had been a close relationship with Ron. She didn't miss the romantic part; what she really wanted back was the friendship that had been mistaken for more. Since they'd broken up, Ron had remained pleasant and cheerful, but some element still did not fit properly. As though a pane of glass had slid between them, Hermione felt separated from the tall redhead and despite her best efforts she'd been unable to reach for the easy camaraderie they once shared.  
  
Once she reached the Hospital Wing, Hermione stood to one side as Madame Pomfrey dealt with a short queue of students who were claiming to be ill. They probably were, she reflected, since it was Friday and the next day was scheduled to be a Hogsmeade liberty. Madame Pomfrey listened and dosed and doled out advice and other orders, until the last child had been treated and either sent away or, in one case, tucked into a bed with some screens pulled around.  
  
When the bells rang to signal the start of the school day, Madame Pomfrey led the way to the small laboratory. Snape and Dumbledore were discussing the incantation to be used.  
  
"You're not going to use the same spell Professor Lockhart used on Harry's arm that one time, are you?" she asked Madame Pomfrey.  
  
"Gilderoy Lockhart, idiot that he is, used a charm developed by cooks to de- bone fish, Miss Granger," Snape drawled, with only a hint of sarcasm. "Somehow I have confidence that Madame Pomfrey will accomplish her task without leaving me flat as a cuttlefish."  
  
"Yes, sir," she replied meekly, but was heartened when Madame Pomfrey gave her a pat on the back. The list of implements to retrieve from Snape's private workroom had been moved, and it took Hermione a moment to locate it. The scrap of foolscap was on a large tray, along with all the items listed.  
  
"I took the liberty of having the house-elves fetch these things for you, Miss Granger," volunteered Dumbledore before returning to his conversation with Snape.  
  
With no excuse to put off starting things, Hermione began to set up for the task at hand. The smaller burner was still in good working order, burning brightly when she tested it at various flame heights. The ingredients she'd brought up the day before were still in the basket and she laid them out, separating the ones that needed further processing from the ones that simply needed to be measured. When she had finished and looked up, Madame Pomfrey had disappeared and both Snape and Dumbledore were watching her with various degrees of interest.  
  
Since the Potions Master made no comment on her preparations, she took that to mean her actions met with his approval. She straightened the last few tools and waited with her hands clasped before her, trying her best to appear calm despite the butterflies in her stomach that insisted this was a test of some sort. It was, she thought to herself, though the results would not be a grade on her record but the difference between a man's life or death.  
  
Snape rose unsteadily from the stool and dragged it closer to the workbench, leaning heavily on the dark wooden surface. "If you're ready, Miss Granger, why don't we start with the angelica root and the dragon heartstring?"  
  
With that, they began.  
  
Two or more hours passed without notice as she chopped, stirred, pounded and slivered under Snape's heavily lidded but still sharp eyes. Lemon balm and horsetail became a gray-green paste under her mortar, and small strips of jerky-like heartstring soaked up the red wine until they looked as though they'd just come from the unlucky dragon moments ago. The only disagreement they had was over the hawthorn flowers, whose wilted and dried heads were already in less than prime shape. Hermione refused to bash them into a powder, preferring to mince them instead.  
  
"If we pulverize these in the pestle, any of the remaining oils will just end up smeared on the marble and not be in the potion where they belong," she insisted. "These are the best of the ones in your stores, and I doubt we could get more at this time of year."  
  
"Very well," he allowed finally. "Continue."  
  
Dumbledore lent a hand during the straining process, holding the sieve while Hermione hefted the small silver cauldron with a thick towel out of Madame Pomfrey's cabinets to insulate her hands from the hot metal. He observed her actions with mild interest, never making her nervous with the anxiety she knew was simmering under his calm exterior. Madame Pomfrey stepped into the room several times, speaking little but keeping an eye on the progress being made.  
  
With great care Hermione strained the evolving potion again, this time from the wide-mouthed beaker through cheesecloth to a large vial. Fortunately, she reflected as she added the exactingly measured lemon balm, this particular elixir was not the variety that required days of simmering. On second thought, those concoctions intended for serious medical complaints probably ran out of patients if they took too long to prepare.  
  
The finished elixir came to rest at last in a tall glass cylinder. Viscous and red as fresh blood but clear as fine crystal, it glowed like a ruby in the light coming from the window as it cooled in a metal rack.  
  
"All right, Severus. Into bed with you," chivied Madame Pomfrey, and if Snape objected to being treated like one of her student patients, he made no mention of it. "Miss Granger, when you feel the potion has cooled sufficiently, please bring it to Professor Snape's room."  
  
Hermione nodded as the mediwitch accompanied her patient out of the laboratory. Professor Dumbledore followed more slowly, but paused at the doorway.  
  
"An excellent performance, Hermione," he told her, his creased face smiling gently. "Well done."  
  
Warmed by the Headmaster's approval, Hermione cleaned the workspace and wiped out the silver cauldron, drying it carefully to avoid any tarnishing. When she had finished the majority of the clearing up, the elixir was just over lukewarm.  
  
Elixir in hand, she tapped on the Isolation Ward door before opening it and passing through the arch into Snape's hidden room, where the Headmaster sat comfortably chatting with Pomfrey. Snape lay on the made bed, propped up by pillows. He still wore the trousers and white shirt he'd worn that morning to oversee the brewing of the potion, but the jacket lounging jacket hung from the bedpost and his shoes had been toed off without being untied and lay under the rusty metal frame of his bed. A deep vee in the neck of the shirt gaped open to reveal a scattering of fine black hair and a silvery scar across his breastbone. The skin itself was pale and translucent, throwing back the glow from Pomfrey's wand as she cast one last charm over his heart to be sure of her incantation's aim.  
  
She motioned Hermione to come closer and had her hold the vial of elixir some twelve inches above Snape's chest as she began chanting. Her voice was sure and steady; she'd memorized the incantation perfectly and cast it with the assurance and skill of years of experience, directing the magic to destroy the fragment of bone and urging the properties of the elixir to work quickly.  
  
Madame Pomfrey finished the spell with a decisive swish of her wand. Quickly she took the elixir from Hermione's hands and would have fed it to Severus if the man hadn't neatly relieved her of it. Snape gave Hermione a long, measuring look as he sniffed the ruby liquid, but he lifted it to his lips and tossed it back without a word.  
  
Everyone waited. From her vantage point Hermione could see Snape's eyes narrow as several long moments passed with no change.  
  
Suddenly the man convulsed, sucking in a breath as though he was in danger of drowning. His back arched and his hands reached out and clutched at nothing.  
  
"Hold him!" commanded Madame Pomfrey. Hermione quickly moved forward, reaching for his shoulder, but he grabbed her wrist in a bruising grip. The mediwitch pinned his legs with her arm as he twisted on the bed. Almost as quickly as it hit, the seizure was over, and Snape's long form relaxed slowly.  
  
Unconscious now, his black hair lay across his forehead in limp strands, growing damp with the sudden sweat that sprang up across his face. Madame Pomfrey ran her wand up and down his torso, her own face tense with concentration.  
  
His breathing, though still shallow, resumed its rhythm, and the raised tendons in his neck began to relax, as did the hand that had put bruises around Hermione's wrist. Hermione reversed his hold on her and felt for the pulse, which was rapid and faint. After several long moments, it began to slow into a stronger but horribly irregular cadence.  
  
"Shouldn't we get him to St. Mungo's?" she asked, worried.  
  
"He made me promise not to," answered Madame Pomfrey shortly.  
  
"Even if he dies?" Hermione demanded.  
  
"Even if it should mean his life, Miss Granger," answered Albus Dumbledore. She'd forgotten his presence in the room. "He felt - feels it would be better to leave his whereabouts a mystery to all. Especially people like Lucius Malfoy."  
  
Which meant that if he died here and now, he'd most likely end up buried somewhere on Hogwarts' grounds like a run-over cat, just to keep Lucius Malfoy from knowing anything. The thought of Malfoy explaining to Voldemort the whereabouts of his fellow Death Eaters - and his master - was a thought to keep a person warm on the coldest night. Hermione accepted the decision, even if she did not agree, and kept her attention on Snape. The pulse under her fingers continued to slow.  
  
The hand that dangled from the wrist she monitored was frighteningly limp, and remained that way for what was possibly the longest half-hour of Hermione's life. When his heartbeat finally evened out and then began to grow stronger, she thought it was her imagination until she saw the smile growing on Madame Pomfrey's face.  
  
"Congratulations, Miss Granger, you've done it. The elixir is working. His heart is stronger already."  
  
Drained with relief, Hermione released the wrist with its bold, steady pulse and lifted Snape's arm up onto the bed beside his body as Pomfrey drew the folded coverlet from under his legs and pulled it up and over the unconscious man.  
  
Dumbledore and Pomfrey were chatting quietly as Hermione excused herself, having been given the distinct impression they had things they did not wish her to overhear. At a loss as to what else to do, Hermione went back to the lab to finish the last of the clearing up. Lunch would be served soon, and she had another class directly after.  
  
The original Elixir recipe and the letter to Madame Pomfrey were set aside; all the other bits of scribbling were scooped into the refuse along with the bits that hadn't made it into the cauldron. At the last second she saw the folded sheet with Dumbledore's name on it in a familiar bold writing. Snape must have written it while he'd been fiddling with the Latin grammar.  
  
The single sheet of parchment had been folded to form its own envelope, and the edges made Hermione's fingers tingle slightly as she turned it over in her hands. It didn't take a great deal of imagination to figure out what was inside; it probably started with 'In the instance of my demise,' and went on from there.  
  
Running her hand over the flap, she could feel the low ebb of magic on the seal. Any half-decent witch could have broken it, but she wasn't tempted. Instead she placed it in the pocket of her black robes and finished tidying up.  
  
Hermione had just blown out the candles and picked up her things when she heard Madame Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore's voices. Fumbling in her pocket, she retrieved the letter and intercepted the pair as they ambled through the ward.  
  
"Here, Professor. I found this in the laboratory."  
  
Dumbledore took it with a frown. "Thank you, Miss Granger. How like Severus to worry about loose ends, but for your efforts I doubt we'll need this. I'll just give it back to him later."  
  
"You should be very proud of yourself, my girl," added Madame Pomfrey. "I can't tell you what a relief it is to see Severus turning the corner, and we owe it all to you. Thank you again for your help."  
  
For the rest of her life, Hermione could never be sure what exactly prompted her to open her mouth without thinking and ask, "Will you be needing any more help?"  
  
Pomfrey paused and exchanged a look with Dumbledore. "As a matter of fact, I think I might. Albus, you mentioned something just the other day about my needing an assistant, now that Severus is unable to brew my supplies. If Miss Granger going to be shy a class, I'm sure we could persuade Minerva to award her some class credits for coming here and doing that for me."  
  
"Yes, that would be wonderful," answered Hermione quickly. She'd forgotten she'd be forced to drop her Apparation classes. The loss of those credits probably wouldn't harm her average, but it still rankled.  
  
"Certainly, Poppy. An excellent suggestion - I'll speak to her directly. Good day, ladies."  
  
"You do realize you'll be required to work with Professor Snape," Pomfrey stated once the Headmaster had gone, "at least until you learn how to do the one's I'm always running out of. If you can stand to be in the same room with each other, that is. I'm sadly out of practice, and I simply don't have the budget to order everything through the post."  
  
Hermione smiled and took the implied reprimand with as good a grace as she could manage. "Yes, and I promise to behave as long as he doesn't become too horrible. He's not my professor any more, though. He can't take off house points if I answer him back."  
  
"No, dear, he can't. Though he's always more prickly when he's been injured, I must say these past weeks have been absolute hell for all of us."  
  
Hermione frowned. "If I may ask. why has it taken so long to heal him? I've seen you mend broken bones in just minutes."  
  
"Quidditch injuries are one thing, my girl. We honestly thought Severus was dead when the constables carried him in here."  
  
With a frown, Pomfrey thought back on the night Hermione had been kidnapped. "You were absolutely hysterical that night, and with good reason, I might add. Severus was unconscious for days, and it was far too risky to attempt any major healing spells while his vitals were so low."  
  
Hermione nodded. While minor spells used the energy of the caster, the more powerful spells also depended on the life force of the patient. If Snape was as injured as she was beginning to suspect he had been, it would take him weeks to recover.  
  
"And we only discovered the problem with his heart about a month ago, when we got everything else taken care of and he kept fainting on me every time I bullied him up out of his chair. Took me days just to isolate the problem, and then finding a specialist I could grill who wouldn't ask me too many questions in return. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to tell Albus to take his secrecy and stuff it and just haul Severus over to St. Mungo's."  
  
"Except he'd likely be dead before they could help him," finished Hermione.  
  
Pomfrey gave an exasperated sniff. "Exactly. You sound just like Albus."  
  
"Well," Hermione returned lightly, "I guess that's a compliment. I have Apparition on Monday & Friday afternoons," she continued, "but I'm dropping that, and my Wednesday afternoons are already a free period. I can be here right after lunch on those days."  
  
"We'll start with Mondays and Fridays, my girl, and go from there. I don't want you overdoing it. You still have someone besides yourself to think about now, remember."  
  
Hermione flushed at the reminder. "No, I haven't forgotten."  
  
*****  
  
Still lugging her useless books with her, Hermione managed to make it to the Great Hall in time to grab some lunch. Ron and Harry gave her a quick greeting as she plopped down opposite them, reaching for the platters of food with both hands as she suddenly realized how very hungry she was.  
  
"So, what did Pomfrey want?" Ron demanded just as Hermione took her first bite. "'Nother epidemic coming?"  
  
"You were right," Hermione managed around a mouthful of sandwich. "She wanted help with a potion."  
  
"Told you she wouldn't let Clueless Cluny in on it. That man's horrid. Today, he actually told Malfoy he'd do better if he'd just apply himself. I'd like to apply him one."  
  
"Sprinkle lightly around the roots," Harry added in a fair imitation of Professor Sprout. "Can't have too much manure around the roots."  
  
Ron laughed and continued the Malfoy-manure joke, leaving Hermione to roll her eyes as her two best friends degenerated into childish scatological humor. Since they'd mentioned him, Hermione glanced surreptitiously at the Slytherin table. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy was there, flanked on each side by Crabbe and Goyle, like two gigantic bookends guarding a diminutive book. Even as she looked, the young blond man looked back and made eye contact.  
  
Unwilling to back down, Hermione glared, daring him to look away first. Instead of being intimidated, Draco smiled and mouthed something, which was too far away to understand but was undoubtedly as lascivious as the slow way he licked his upper teeth. Hermione simply glared more and made an obscene gesture she'd learned in primary school from the type of children her mother hadn't approved of as playmates. He probably didn't know what the gesture meant, but it was the thought that counted.  
  
Hermione had never considered herself beautiful, never really wasted more than the occasional moment comparing herself to her female classmates, or considered whether boys watched her and commented on her body. Two years of dating Ron Weasley had consisted of Hogsmeade weekends, holding hands, and the occasional snog session in the hallways. His pressure to increase the level of intimacy in their relationship had been the end of said relationship, not improved it. She was unsettled by the sexual signals Draco was sending her and deeply suspicious of the Slytherin's true intentions.  
  
"Hermione!" called Harry. "It's nearly time for class. Are you coming or not?"  
  
"Actually, I am, but just this once more. I'm dropping out of Apparation."  
  
"You're what?" demanded Ron. "You've been dying to take this class since the last time you fell off your broom!"  
  
"And I'm never getting back on one, thanks the same."  
  
Harry's dark eyebrows were drawn into a frown, and he gave Ron a quick glance before he asked her why she was dropping out.  
  
"Madame Pomfrey has asked me to become a sort of nurse's aid. It's not really an apprenticeship program or anything, but it's very interesting. She said I could brew potions for her and help with the students and such. I can take Apparation lessons any time, but this way I'll learn all about medical potions and wizard first aid..."  
  
"Enough, Hermione," interrupted Ron. "We get it-loads more to learn and all the books in the world to read. Should've known Apparation didn't have enough books for you."  
  
*****  
  
Professor Flitwick was of course disappointed that Hermione was leaving the class. Hermione thought she caught the faintest odd flicker of expression, and it made her wonder how many girls had dropped Apparation before and for the same reason she was, but the miniscule wizard accepted her explanation without too many questions.  
  
The weekend passed uneventfully, filled with homework and the obligatory trip to Hogsmeade where she tagged after Ron and Harry as they visited their favorite haunts. They deserted her when she voiced her intention to visit the bookstore and subtly encouraged them to meet her later. Harry had plans to meet Ginny for a butterbeer anyway, and Ron was willing to spend time with his sister even though he complained about how much time Harry and Ginny spent on, as he called it, non-verbal communication.  
  
This gave Hermione the opportunity to browse the section on maternity and child raising without worrying about getting caught. Unfortunately the majority of the books seemed written for absolute simpletons, and she gave up after spending several minutes thumbing through books full of color shots of pudgy, happy babies and chapter listings that all extolled the joys of diaper rash and potty training.  
  
Half relieved, half disappointed she was not smuggling a book on her pregnancy into Hogwarts, Hermione joined her friends at the Three Broomsticks and pretended she had taken a sudden dislike to butterbeer in favor of unfermented cider.  
  
***** Monday's potions class was deadly dull, as usual, but eventually it was over and after lunch Hermione reported to the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey spent the afternoon explaining her methods and regulations, taught Hermione the charm that added notes to a student's medical record, where to find elusive ice bags, etc. Hermione did her best to appear only mildly concerned when she asked after Snape. She was told Snape was recovering nicely.  
  
Truthfully, Hermione wasn't even sure how she felt about the tall, dark wizard who'd done his level best to make her and her friends' lives miserable for so many years. On one hand he was mean, sarcastic, and hateful at every opportunity. On the other, he was a double agent who'd been savaged by those he spied on, and nearly paid for it with his life. The fact that he was the father of the child she was currently carrying was something she kept locked tightly in an antiseptic, unemotional corner of her mind.  
  
He hadn't been horrible during the two days it had taken to brew the Vie de la Coeur Elixir. As a matter of fact, he'd treated her with the same - for want of a better term - lack of active hostility with which he spoke to Madame Pomfrey and the Headmaster. Adrift in her own confusion, she seized on the thought that perhaps he was unsure how to react to her either.  
  
It was exactly a week before Hermione spoke to Snape again. Working for Madame Pomfrey turned out to involve far fewer spells and far more folding sheets than she had expected, and Friday afternoon found her on her knees, mending a torn screen with her wand. A sound caught her ear, but when she glanced up, she saw nothing. On the edge of dismissing it, she spied the door to the corridor standing ajar.  
  
The hair on her neck began to prickle. Hermione brought her wand up and looked around the empty ward, searching for anything out of place. Beginning to feel slightly foolish, she nevertheless kept her wand at the ready and waited for something to tease her attention.  
  
She let out a shriek when she heard a voice call her name. A black form materialized from the air and then she was blinking at Severus Snape, the same black lounging jacket over the ever-present white shirt. A fresh depilatory charm had left his chin clean-shaven, and he stood easily in the thin winter sunlight pouring in through the windows.  
  
"Calm down, Miss Granger. You're in no danger from me."  
  
Lowering her wand, Hermione stammered out a "Good afternoon, Professor."  
  
"Good afternoon. I did not mean to frighten you."  
  
"That's all right, sir. Was that wandless magic? Being invisible, I mean?"  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched into a bare approximation of a smile. "I was not technically invisible, and no, it's not wandless magic. The spell requires a wand to cast, but dissipates upon command. It's a variation on the 'do not notice' spell, and you would have detected me within a few moments."  
  
Hermione reflected that Severus Snape might have made a better than average Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Before she'd decided whether that would have been a good thing to say or not, he spoke again.  
  
"I understand you will be assisting Madame Pomfrey here in the Hospital Ward for the foreseeable future. She has asked me to show you the makings of the potions she uses most often."  
  
"Yes, sir. Since I cannot continue the Apparation class, she suggested I could earn class credit here, and she really does need the help."  
  
"Not take Apparation.I see," he said uneasily. "And are you feeling well?"  
  
"I'm fine, sir," she told him, and quickly changed the subject. "I'd be glad to learn some new potions. It would make a change."  
  
Snape's expression changed only slightly, but his next words were a wasteland of dry distaste. "You gave me to understand Geoffrey Cluny has taken over my classes."  
  
"Yes," Hermione answered shortly, matching his tone.  
  
"You have an opinion to share on my successor?" he challenged.  
  
"The most positive thing I can say.is that at least Neville no longer has to buy his cauldrons in job lots, since he's not called upon to do anything that could be called a challenge. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore had to take potluck in getting someone to fill in, but you'd be hard pressed to find someone as bad.  
  
"Gilderoy Lockhart might be a worse choice," she added thoughtfully, "but it would be a near thing."  
  
Snape chuckled, almost against his will, and Hermione was amazed at the natural sound of it. Who would have expected the dour Potions Master to have such a nice laugh.  
  
"Pity," he remarked dryly. "I was sure Longbottom was going to break the record this year."  
  
"What record?"  
  
"I have kept a running tally on who melts the most cauldrons in their Hogwarts careers, Miss Granger. The Weasley twins made an impressive score, more from their deliberate experiments than lack of ability, but Longbottom was close to setting a new high water mark."  
  
"Which is?" she prompted.  
  
"Forty-three cauldrons in the course of seven years. A mark achieved by a Hufflepuff in my third year as a teacher here, and who inspired me to do my utmost to maintain control in my classroom. My predecessor had begun to keep track when the girl was in his class, and I merely continued the tradition."  
  
"I see," Hermione replied, torn between amusement and pure astonishment at this glimpse of Snape's dark humor.  
  
The man turned and made a small gesture, inviting her to walk with him. Hermione obeyed automatically as he walked towards the small laboratory, more slowly than the usual stride which made his robes flare out into the bat wings responsible for earning him so many nicknames, but his strength had apparently returned and he moved with ease.  
  
"The first thing to be done is to go through Madame Pomfrey's stores and dispose of everything that's gone off. I'll want the shelves cleaned, and they need to be moved so they're out of the sunlight. The large Bunsen burner is a disgrace; it will need scouring. I also plan on speaking to the Headmaster about convincing the walls to change a bit; I have no intention of sneaking into the lab just because some fool student's got a bellyache."  
  
Snape reached the door to the lab and did not quite fling it open, but he was obviously on the mend to judge by the energy of his action.  
  
"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir," Hermione stammered, trying to catalogue his list of tasks while adding her own as she waited for him to enter.  
  
Snape gave her an inscrutable look. "After you, Miss Granger," he indicated.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Note: All the herbs I've mentioned are used in homeopathic medicine, but please don't try this at home. Also, Quillusion gets a gold star for being so very perceptive. 


	7. Chapter 7

With the relief most men felt when greeting an old friend, Severus Snape buttoned the black vest over his white linen shirt, tugged it straight, and pulled on the high-collared frock coat. He left off the usual black neck- cloth and the coat remained unbuttoned; he'd only just become reacquainted with breathing easily and was unwilling to restrict his airway now.  
  
The freedom to breathe deeply; to lean over without becoming light-headed or feel the blood pounding in his throat--all were sensations he'd sorely missed. By the calendar it was January 31st, but for Severus the New Year had not really started until just the last few days. He was not so sentimental as to consider himself having a new lease on life, but his rapidly recovering health was allowing him to view things in a larger frame of reference once more. Other luxuries were nice as well, such as puttering around in his pokey little room or using any of the fixtures in the small bath without Pomfrey twittering about just outside the door, waiting to hear him drown himself. The mere idea of dying in the bathtub had been mortifying enough to make him take great care not to overtax his once temperamental heart.  
  
During the Headmaster's last visit, their conversation had centered on some research Severus had never before had time to indulge. Potions that had been suggested by recent articles in Ars Alchemea and Potions Monthly had teased the imagination and promised remarkable results, and Dumbledore had given his full support to those efforts. Severus was fully aware it was merely a sop to the fact that he was still essentially a prisoner, kept in protective custody. The small suite of rooms that comprised his current domain were more pleasant than Azkaban, to be sure, but they were still cramped.  
  
But still - with a fairly complete laboratory and an able assistant, he itched to get started on several projects he'd put off. And one would need to look long and hard to find a more able assistant than Hermione Granger.  
  
To give credit where it was due, the girl - young woman, he corrected himself - had saved his life. Miss Granger had the potential of a fine Potions Mistress. Her recent quick mastery of the basic medicinal potions had led him to broaden his plans. Straightening his cuffs and settling the weight of the fabric over his shoulders, Severus allowed himself to consider Hermione for a moment. Like a vicious scab on his psyche, his mind had returned again and again to worry at the situation that was Hermione Granger, at least until the discomfort of thinking about her caused his thoughts to veer off in another direction once more.  
  
When he had first regained consciousness in Pomfrey's care, Severus had been unable to tell Dumbledore what had gone wrong, and several days had passed before he'd remembered any details at all. The full recall had burst upon him during one of Dumbledore's quiet, probing conversations, and he finally understood what the Headmaster had been so carefully tiptoeing around.  
  
He'd raped Hermione Granger.  
  
The sudden full return of his memory had left him retching helplessly, tearing the recently repaired injuries to his stomach and sides until blood had mixed with the bile he brought up. Pomfrey had shouted at the Dumbledore, something she almost never did, and cast a spell on him that rendered him insensate.  
  
Once he'd regained consciousness, Severus had clamped down all emotion. The cold anger that had once been his safety valve required too much energy for his injured body to maintain for more than a sharp retort or two. Mostly he'd ignored Dumbledore's continued efforts to draw him from the bleak depression, just as he ignored Pomfrey's efforts to involve him in the healing of his body. As he saw it, his body had betrayed him, and it deserved no better treatment. Despite the fact that Malfoy had cast the Imperius, it was his body that had violated hers, and his child currently growing inside her.  
  
The news of Hermione's unexpected pregnancy had nearly been the final blow for Severus. Falling back on his normal caustic behavior had made her respond in kind, but her refusal to blame him was as unanticipated as it was misguided. Although he had wronged her in the worst way imaginable, she had instead aimed her revulsion at Lucius Malfoy, and this left Severus uncertain how to react. Additionally, he'd seen first hand that she had a temper when provoked, which would lead a prudent man to curb his tendency to snarl.  
  
During the past two weeks they had worked together without friction, maintaining a respectful and frigidly polite distance. He'd refrained from snapping at the least provocation, and she had in turn had behaved far more professionally than he had any right to expect. This gave him the faint hope that she might be willing to assist him further with his research and keep him from chafing too much while confined in Pomfrey's keeping.  
  
Impatient to begin his work, Severus gave up working at the last crease of his cuff and waved his hand. The false wall between his quarters and the dusty Isolation Ward dissolved, and on the other side of the room that wall, too, shimmered out of existence and led straight into the laboratory. When he stepped through, the illusion of solid wall remained behind him. The staircases were not the only things about Hogwarts that got restless, and the old heap would occasionally accommodate the Headmaster's request and reform a wall here and there.  
  
Severus had barely begun to survey the newly arranged laboratory when he heard a female voice calling urgently for Madame Pomfrey. It was a bit earlier than most students showed up, and he knew for a fact Poppy was not in the Hospital Wing yet that morning. The voice was familiar, and as he opened the laboratory door covertly and peered through the gap, his assumption was proved correct as he caught sight of Hermione Granger standing just inside the Infirmary.  
  
Standing was perhaps too optimistic a word; Miss Granger held herself upright with a hand against the doorframe. The other was clenched over her stomach, but quickly went to her mouth as another wave of nausea racked her. She bolted suddenly for the lavatory and the sounds of her violent retching echoed from the tiled walls.  
  
**  
  
Hermione had barely opened her eyes when the morning sickness, which so far had been only a few fleeting moments of disquiet, suddenly manifested with a vengeance. She'd had to run to the lav and be sick, and had barely made it in time. Brushing her teeth and drinking a little cold water had helped, but even finding her school uniform had been interrupted twice by unplanned prayers to the porcelain gods. In surrender, she'd dragged on the first thing that came to hand - an old cotton shirt and a pair of leggings, then threw her school robes on over the top of that and headed for the Hospital Wing.  
  
Just passing by the Great Hall and getting a whiff of the food had sent her hurtling towards the bathrooms again. The climb up the staircases had left her gray and sweating, and once inside the door the impending nausea had sent her lurching towards the nearest toilet, where she clutched the cold white bowl as the spasms racked her body. When the worst was over, she leaned weakly against the wall and rested her forehead on the bowl, willing her head to stop pounding.  
  
A cold touch on the back of her neck made her jump, but the pressure of long fingers on the flannel kept her head down.  
  
"Stay still, Miss Granger. Wait until you're sure it has passed." Snape's deep voice lacked any mockery, and she put her head back down gratefully. Another damp cloth, this one comfortingly warm, was pressed into her hand and she used it to wipe her mouth and runny nose.  
  
After a few minutes, she cautiously sat up and pushed her hair back. Muscles in her back and abdomen protested, but her stomach remained quiet while she mopped her face again and tried, not very successfully, to put herself to rights. When her hands were washed and her robes buttoned properly, she left the small lavatory and was surprised to see Snape holding out a steaming mug.  
  
"What is it?" she questioned, taking it gingerly and sniffing at the fragrant steam.  
  
"An exotic blend -- peppermint tea and licorice root, with a spoon of honey. It should calm your stomach, and there is no risk of any side- effects harming you."  
  
"Thank you," she murmured weakly, and attempted a small sip. It was hot, but the warmth soothed her throat and settled in her stomach without argument.  
  
Severus held open the door to the small laboratory and indicated that Hermione should proceed him. She settled limply on one of the stools and leaned on the workbench.  
  
"I don't think I'm going to make it to Potions on time this morning," she observed.  
  
"No loss," he commented without inflection.  
  
Hermione shrugged, and sipped cautiously at her tea. When the silence got to her, she inquired, "May I ask you something?"  
  
He nodded marginally.  
  
"Are you going to come back to teaching Potions?"  
  
"No," he answered quickly, then added, "I taught only as a favor to the Headmaster, and my position in Hogwarts gave Voldemort supposed access to the goings-on here."  
  
"I see."  
  
**  
  
Though her reply was merely polite, Severus could hear the faint disappointment in her voice. He knew better than to expect that it was his person that prompted such emotion, but the loss of actually learning anything in the class.  
  
"There is some possibility I might have enjoyed teaching if the average student were remotely interested in the subject. As it was, there were too many Longbottoms and not enough students like yourself."  
  
"I thought you hated me," Hermione blurted out. Before he could formulate an answer to that, she abruptly paled and bolted for the bathroom once more. Left staring after her, Severus went in search of another face- cloth.  
  
"I think I'm getting the hang of this," Hermione declared weakly when he appeared in the doorway. She took the wet cloth he offered and pressed it to her forehead. "You just have to let it come, and not fight it."  
  
"I'll take your word for it, but you'll not be going anywhere this morning but into one of these beds. If you're finished here, that is."  
  
When Hermione nodded, Severus caught her under one elbow and hauled her upright, frowning a bit at the lack of weight. The girl wasn't terribly tall, but if she weighed more than six stone he'd be very much surprised. He led her to the cot opposite the door to his laboratory, where he'd be able to hear her if she called. Madame Pomfrey would no doubt soon make her appearance, followed soon by the morning contingent of sickly brats, but until then he wanted to keep an eye on things. At Hermione's request, he put one of the ever-present screens between the cot and the rest of the ward.  
  
When he turned around, the black student's robe lay across the foot of the bed and he was momentarily taken aback by the sight of one of his most studious pupils in an oversized cotton shirt emblazoned with a smiley-faced tooth. Once she'd pulled up the covers and gotten comfortable, he made sure a pail was within easy reach and turned to go. Hermione's quiet voice stopped him.  
  
"May I ask you something else?"  
  
"Hermione," he began, then steeled himself. "You may ask for anything that is in my power to give."  
  
"Oh," she replied, and when he glanced at her, she appeared faintly puzzled. "I was just going to say that I had overheard Professor Dumbledore tell Madame Pomfrey that you're going to be starting some research projects." Her voice quieted deferentially. "I was hoping you'd allow me to assist you."  
  
"You wish to continue working with me?" He queried, somewhat astonished.  
  
"Yes, please. The NEWTS are only a few months away, and I need to get a good enough score in potions to be admitted to Aleford."  
  
"Cluny would be of no use in preparing you for your exams, Miss Granger, but surely you must know that you'd no doubt pass if you took the NEWTS tomorrow."  
  
Hermione ignored the implied compliment and pressed on. "I'm going to need to win a scholarship, professor. My parents aren't well-to-do and to tell the truth, they're not all that happy at the thought of my going to university in the wizards' world."  
  
"Have you written to them? About the pregnancy," he clarified, masking his tense anxiety with a mild tone.  
  
"No," she admitted, ducking her head slightly. "I'm still trying to figure out what to say."  
  
Unable to make an answer to that, Snape returned to the previous question. "I have no objection whatever to your involvement, Miss Granger. Actually, I had hoped to ask you for your assistance. Madame Pomfrey needs little help with her actual mediwitch duties; keep her supplies up and she'll give you carte blanche on your time here."  
  
"Thank you, sir. You don't know how much I appreciate this." Hermione drew the rough blanket up under her arms and lay back. Her face was a close match to the white pillowcase, and even from the foot of the bed Severus could make out the few freckles across the bridge of her nose.  
  
"It's my turn, I believe, to ask you a personal question, Miss Granger. Have you decided what you will do -- with the baby, I mean?" He still stuttered slightly when he said the word.  
  
Hermione plucked at the blanket and didn't answer immediately. "Not really. Professor Dumbledore tells me that there are some wizard families who might be interested in adopting a wizard baby. And between your genetics and mine, there's not much chance he'll be a squib, is there? But I'm not comfortable with that option, because the way things are I don't really feel like I can be sure the family who would take a baby would be the right sort of family."  
  
"Not a Death Eater family or the like, is that it?"  
  
"Exactly. I couldn't live with myself if I thought my child might end up in a family like the Malfoys." Hermione sighed heavily, and Snape could tell she was exhausted. "I can't seem to concentrate on all that, for some reason. There's still Voldemort to worry about. If we defeat him, then I'm sure something will work out. If we don't defeat him, well, then, I'll have more to worry about than the sprog, won't I?"  
  
Her eyes were drifting shut, and Snape forbore mentioning that the latest message to Dumbledore from the Centaurs had claimed the signs point towards this new year as being the one during which the final battle would be waged with Voldemort.  
  
Hermione was still talking, barely awake. "And if witches and wizards live as long as people say... Then taking care of a child until they're ready for Hogwarts won't be too terribly long, in the long run, will it?"  
  
"Sleep, Miss Granger. I'll be sure you're excused from classes today."  
  
He received only an indistinct murmur in reply.  
  
*****  
  
Not until after student curfew that evening could Severus leave the confines of the Hospital Wing and wander the hallways of Hogwarts. He used the do-not-notice spell and put a muffling charm on his boots, but those were only minor inconveniences he had endured many times before. Not even Mrs. Norris, sniffing around the corridors for students out of bed, caught a whiff of his scent.  
  
The gargoyle let him onto the spiral stair to the Headmaster's office, and he took the steps two at a time, just because he could. Dumbledore offered him tea and biscuits and more of his horrid Muggle candies. They discussed nothing in particular for some time, until Severus was tapping his fingers on the overstuffed arm of his chair and beginning to feel the need for the loo.  
  
"And how are you and Miss Granger getting on?" Dumbledore asked out of the blue.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"I mentioned Miss Granger. You told me she'd learned all the potions she'll need to brew to assist Poppy. If you're managing to work together, you might consider making her an assistant for your research."  
  
"Yes. I had considered that," Severus managed thinly. "She's agreed to work with me, so long as it helps her NEWTS score.  
  
"Ah, yes. The bane of seventh-years everywhere. Well, then. Miss Granger appears to be dealing as well as can be expected with her extraordinary circumstances. She'll no doubt cope just dandy with the baby."  
  
It was the jovial use of 'dandy' that made his palms itch with the urge to strangle the old wizard. "Cope, you say. That foolish girl! I offered her anything, and she wants better NEWTS scores."  
  
Dumbledore hmmed and stirred his tea, the silver spoon making small tinks against the fine china walls of his cup.  
  
"There must be a way to make her realize the gravity of her situation," Severus continued, although he'd not truly considered making Hermione Granger do anything of the sort until now.  
  
"Perhaps she doesn't want anything you have to offer."  
  
"She has every right to ask. Either she truly has no idea of my financial situation, or she's being incredibly brave and stubborn."  
  
"Severus," warned Dumbledore, brandishing his spoon threateningly, "if you say 'how Gryffindor' of her, I shall thump you."  
  
He glared at the older man and held his silence, since he'd been on the verge of saying exactly that. Settling for action, he refilled his cup and drank the cold, bitter dregs with a grim satisfaction.  
  
"If you wish to give your child anything, I suggest a father and a name would be the best choice," Dumbledore suggested gravely.  
  
Severus kept a sneer out of his voice with some difficulty. "Your confidence is my continued existence is touching, Headmaster. Not to mention your rather optimistic assumption Miss Granger would take leave of her exceptional senses to have me."  
  
"I was given to understand your mother has been nagging you to provide an heir for some time."  
  
"Let the name of Snape die."  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "Do stop being so melodramatic, Severus. One would think you were a second year who hadn't get asked to the Yule ball." Snape merely glowered at Dumbledore, who responded with a genial smile. "If you don't want to give the child your name, don't. It was merely a suggestion." He finished his tea with a slurp. "Although I must say I prefer Granger anyway."  
  
Ignoring the jibe, Severus scowled thoughtfully. "Perhaps there's a way to include Hermione and the child in my will. Then if something unfortunate should happen to me, which it most likely will," he drawled, "I can leave her very comfortable."  
  
"And the moment that codicil is filed with the Ministry, both she and the baby will become a target for all those who hold you in less than high esteem, my boy," countered Dumbledore. "Not to mention what an official inquest will do about the child's irregular occurrence. You know how the Ministry is about illegitimate births among purebred families.  
  
"One would think with a population as devastated as ours has been, those old codgers would be more willing to forgive how additional population came into being. But no, they want purebloods marrying purebloods and spawning pureblood families."  
  
The Headmaster harrumphed at the stupidity of all ministers. "No, Hermione would be drowned in red tape, and the child would lucky to see any money at all before it was time for him to come here to Hogwarts. You'll simply have to see to it you live long enough to hand her the Galleons in person," he concluded in an offhand manner.  
  
"And count my fingers afterwards? Miss Granger is as proud as she is intelligent, and she refuses to be intimidated by me any longer. I'd be lucky to survive even one attempt to give her money."  
  
"Well, I'm sure you'll think of something."  
  
Severus put down his teacup with a thump. He suspected the Headmaster was manipulating him, but could not decide in which direction. 


	8. Chapter 8

More than a week passed while Severus mulled over the dilemma that was Hermione Granger, or rather what he could contribute to repair a part of the damage he'd caused. Their tenuous working arrangement had continued without friction, and she had given up her free Wednesday afternoons to assist him, beginning with the rearrangement of the laboratory. Another worktable and set of storage shelves had been added to the main room, while the small desk had been banished to the Isolation Ward along with everything that wasn't precisely needed in the lab. The arrangements left barely enough room for the two of them to work without tripping on each other, but it was a productive environment none the less.  
  
Now, finally, he had the room to spread out his papers and several volumes on potions, cross-referencing and making notes in the margins of his previous writings and frequently referring to the latest publications. At the far end of the table, Hermione was currently grinding bogbeans for Pomfrey's favorite bellyache remedy while she kept a watchful eye on a mass of dried something steeping in hot water.  
  
Severus scrutinized her covertly as they worked on their separate tasks. Somewhere in the past few years she'd finally figured out that trying to brush her hair straight was counter-productive to controlling it. She wore the curly mass pulled back as usual, with one hank gathered from the temples to the crown of her head, the tail of which was added into the rest at the nape of her neck. Loose, twisted tendrils lay against her cheek and swayed gently with her pounding.  
  
Reapplying himself to his papers, he paid little attention to her getting up and moving to the stores. The case rose to the high ceiling, and a short stepladder was necessary for reaching the highest shelves.  
  
"Professor, what is this?" she asked, and he glanced up to see her standing atop her stool and holding out a small glass pot. The lid was off and even as he watched, she sniffed delicately at the stopper.  
  
What do you think you're doing?" he snapped, and instantly regretted it when her balance wobbled dangerously. Moving faster than he'd thought possible, he lunged to his feet and was at her side in an instant, his upset stool clattering to the floor.  
  
"I think I'm looking for the centaur hoof clippings," she replied tartly, clutching the edge of the closest shelf. "And don't startle me like that - I nearly fell."  
  
A fact I'm quite aware of, Miss Granger, and I'll thank you to come down from there this instant." Rather than trust her to comply, he seized her by the waist and lifted her down himself. When her feet were safely planted on the floor he took the small pot from her, along with the lid, and put them together with an emphatic click. A swiftly muttered charm sealed it.  
  
"Now. How much did you inhale? Any dizziness or trouble with your eyes?" He cupped her chin and peered into her pupils, judging the evenness of the brown irises. At this close range he could even detect the small flecks of green.  
  
"Just the tiniest whiff, and no." she told him. "Why - what was it?"  
  
"The main ingredient in the Gravis Expirato." He captured a hand and pinched the tip of one finger repeatedly until he was satisfied the pink was returning quickly each time.  
  
"Oh. Ouch. I'm fine, professor. I know better than to take a good whiff of something if I don't know what it is."  
  
"Nevertheless," he told her, examining the color in her face critically. "I want you to sit here for another few minutes. Tell me if you feel faint, or experience any cramps."  
  
"Honestly, I'm fine," she insisted, but obeyed his prodding as he moved her stool back to the table and pushed her onto it. "I barely got a whiff. Smelled a bit like Lion's Ear."  
  
"Hmm," he answered absently as he scanned the recently rearranged shelves. "Yes, it's a relative of Leonurus, but a special hybrid specifically created for one use only. Some remained after I made the Expirato." The hoof clippings were on a shelf at the same height as Severus' head, which meant they were too high for Hermione's line of sight. He plucked the jar off the shelf and placed it in front of her.  
  
"Here," he told her. "When you've finished with them, please leave them there; I'll need them later."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Severus put his stool upright once more and retrieved his quill from floor. Taking his seat, he settled his robes and smoothed a hand through his hair, but his concentration was reluctant to return to his previous task. He watched Hermione grate the hoof clippings for a moment, then cleared his throat.  
  
"I'll ask Madame Pomfrey to order some False Unicorn Root. If you experience any problems, I want you to go to her right away."  
  
"All right," Hermione agreed, slightly surprised at his solicitude. One of the best known uses of the False Unicorn Root was to prevent miscarriages. "Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome." Stifling the urge to tap his toe or shred the feather quill, Severus finally broached the subject that had occupied his thoughts for the past few days.  
  
"Tell me, Miss Granger. The last time we spoke on the subject, you indicated you planned on raising your child, rather than give it up for adoption. Have you changed your mind?"  
  
"No," she replied after a moment. "We'll see how things go with the war, but I want to raise this baby."  
  
"I wonder if you might find it in your heart to allow me to see the child."  
  
Hermione carefully set down the grater and hoof rim in her hands and stared at the man at the opposite end of the table. The stern face was as unreadable as ever, but these past weeks of working in close proximity to Severus Snape had taught her to interpret small clues in his body language. The quill in his fingers was still, but the long fingers were rolling it minutely from side to side, indicating his tension as he waited for her reply.  
  
"Of course, Professor," she answered after a moment. "I just.I didn't think you were at all interested. I thought the baby would just be an embarrassment to you."  
  
"Nothing could be further, Miss Granger. Suffice it to say that I am interested, and leave it at that."  
  
Hermione continued to stare at him, and he returned her regard with a slight quirk of his eyebrow.  
  
"May I show you something?" she asked, finally. With a frown for the seriousness of her request, he nodded. The frown only deepened as she moved to shut and lock the door that led to the infirmary.  
  
"No one else is even remotely interested. I mean, Pomfrey's done it all before, and, well, Professor Dumbledore would hardly be concerned. And I can't show Ginny, or Harry, or Ron. Oh, I know I'm babbling." She approached him hesitantly, then side-stepped around him and went through the illusion wall to the Isolation ward.  
  
When Severus followed her, Hermione stood next to one of the dusty, narrow cots which had been crammed against the wall to make room. Without a word she unbuttoned her long, heavy school robe. She left it hanging from her shoulders, but it gaped open to reveal an unattractive cable-knit sweater above stretch leggings.  
  
"Give me your hand," she commanded, and when he did, mystified, she pulled her wand and muttered a short spell. An odd ripple ran across his palm, but no other changes manifested.  
  
"It's a sensitivity charm," she explained. "I found it in one of the books in the library. You wouldn't be able to feel it otherwise - I'm just over three months along and that's a bit early for this. I only started feeling it a few days ago, myself."  
  
"Feel what?" he demanded, but she didn't answer. Without relinquishing her grip on his hand, she lay down quickly and pulled the bulky sweater up and out of the way. He caught a glimpse of pale skin just where the flat plane of her stomach lifted to meet the knit waistband of her pants. The slight convex rise might have been dismissed as normal curves on a witch with more ample build, but not on someone as thin as Hermione.  
  
"Miss Granger, may I ask." His words cut off as she pulled his hand down onto the slight bulge, forcing him to bend over awkwardly. He opened his mouth to protest the ridiculousness of his posture when something moved under his hand.  
  
Silenced, he sat slowly on the edge of the bed by her hip. Another wriggle came.  
  
Once upon a time, in a bit of nonsense Ron and Harry had dreamed up, Hermione had been talked into carrying a mouse in the pocket of her robe. When she'd sat down, the mouse had explored the confines of its prison, sniffing and pattering from one corner of her pocket to the other. The tickling sensation of those little feet running over her skin was the closest comparison she could make to the sensation of the baby moving inside her womb.  
  
"There. Did you feel it?" Without waiting for his reply, she shifted his hand further until his fingertips grazed the faint indent of her navel at the edge of her waistband. She was silent for a moment, then he felt it again. And odd flutter, light as a butterfly in his palm. "Press down a bit," she encouraged him, adding pressure to the back of his hand, and when he did, the sensation repeated once more.  
  
For the first time in their entire acquaintance, Hermione saw Severus Snape dumbstruck. His dark eyes widened as he felt the gossamer tap of his child's movement, and a look of awe made his features less severe, smoothing some of the lines that had seemed so deeply etched in his forehead. She had felt the same way when she'd first detected the stirrings, and had been in agony over being unable to share it the secret with anyone. Now, watching someone else go through those same emotions made her smile with renewed delight at the miracle taking place.  
  
Only when he moved his hand to a new position, seeking after more of the elusive movement, did Hermione realize how intimate their position was. She lay flat on her back with his large, warm hand on her stomach, and in her vulnerable position his sheer physical presence was more than a little intimidating. Snape was lean but he was by no means a small man, a fact that was undeniably evident as he leaned over her.  
  
His hand moved on her again, and her awareness of him seemed to explode. The dry, intellectual knowledge that Snape had had a part in the fathering of her child was nothing compared to the physical realization that he was a man. Some elemental part of her stilled under his touch, but her nipples tightened suddenly as the mental image of that act, of Snape crouched over her, touching her. Her mind ran out of similes - she didn't want to think of the violence that was inherent in the act that had made her pregnant, but he had been intimate with her body. She was carrying his child.  
  
The medical books had told her that her hormones would be in an uproar, but this was ridiculous. With one hand on her mostly clothed stomach, her body was reacting to Severus Snape with a rush of arousal that was far beyond anything Ron had ever managed to raise, even with her willing and active participation. Hermione closed her eyes and firmly told her over-stimulated hormones to control themselves.  
  
"I beg your pardon," Snape apologized quietly, removing his hand from her body. She was almost sorry to see him withdrawing again. "A very interesting spell."  
  
Mortified at the thought Snape might have picked up on her pitiful longings, Hermione sat up and pulled her robes around her. The faint color in his normally sallow cheeks made her sure he had, until his eyes met hers and she detected only astonishment, not revulsion. She found herself wondering when was the last time Snape had let anyone come close to him.  
  
At that moment, Hermione wished she were better at dealing with people. She'd never been any good at making friends, and she doubted Snape was any better. As far as she knew he was on good terms with no one but Dumbledore. He had no friends among the teaching staff and trusted none of them, at least not enough to let any of them know he was alive and secreted away in the Hospital Wing. Although he was cut off from all other human contact, he rarely let his guard down with Madame Pomfrey and treated Hermione with a detached civility at all times.  
  
However, if she were going to allow Snape to share in the raising of this child, then it would probably be best if they were at least on friendly terms. Which meant it was up to her to bring that about.  
  
"If you truly wish to be involved with the baby, Professor, then I have no objection."  
  
Hermione detected the faint lessening of tension in Snape's posture and congratulated herself on guessing correctly. She gave him a slight smile, and added, "It might make things easier for him, when he gets older, to know a wizard who can talk about something besides Quidditch."  
  
A twitch at the corner of his mouth let her know the joke - and the warning - had been appreciated. Ron and Harry were her best friends, and would most certainly be a part of her future.  
  
"Then I'll consider it my duty to give our child an appreciation of something other than broomsticks and Quidditch pitches," he told her smoothly.  
  
Hermione smiled wryly at that and preceded him back to the lab, buttoning her robes and resuming her tasks. It never occurred to her to mark the fact that he'd use the term 'our' in reference to the baby growing under her heart.  
  
*****  
  
Once the afternoon bells rang, Hermione grabbed her bag and left the Hospital Wing to finish her homework from the morning classes. Also buried in her rucksack were several drafts of a letter to her parents, but she was uncharacteristically reluctant to addressing the situation anytime in the near future. Although the subject was bound to become apparent sooner or later, it was easier to put off writing down the news that was sure to devastate her parents. They might even insist she leave Hogwarts, and that was one thing she could not risk.  
  
Comfortable as she could be with her decision to procrastinate writing the letter yet again, Hermione made her way to the library to concentrate on her homework. She had several items to research for a Charms assignment and the work would keep her mind off her parents and the eventual need to tell them of their impending grandparent-hood. However, when she'd claimed a table in the library and spread her work out, Hermione found it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.  
  
It was not the nonexistent letter, however, that distracted her. Thoughts of Severus Snape continued to intrude, along with the occasional shiver of arousal that accompanied the memory of his hand on her stomach. Closing her eyes only brought back the visualization of Snape's long torso leaning slightly over her, and blocking that only made his voice echo in her memory.  
  
Justifying her search by considering that her child would someday ask these questions, Hermione wandered into the alumni section of Hogwarts. She knew that Snape had been a contemporary of Harry's father James and started with the school annals for those years. The information on him was scanty, showing only a slender, stiffly proud boy with a nose that he hadn't grown into yet and a straggle of black hair that continuously drifted into his face.  
  
His last year of school had few pictures; he was listed as a member of the Dueling Club and the Slytherin Quidditch team, which lost the cup to Gryffindor that year. He also won a scholar award for his potions special project that year, and some mention was made of his attending the Oxford School of Alchemy when he graduated. Looking at the photo of a gangly eighteen-year-old Snape (which refused to wave like the other photos), she had to admit the intervening years had not been easy on him.  
  
The Who's Who of Potions Masters International showed him as a member in good standing and included a respectably long list of his patents, but unlike many of his peers he belonged to no subcommittees and was not currently involved in any ongoing research. The thumbnail photo of him showed the same long, unsmiling face framed by lank black hair she saw every other day, and should not have been responsible for the tightening sensation that ran through her body.  
  
Giving in to the impulse, Hermione reconstructed the entire forty-five seconds of time Snape had touched her, deliberately wringing out all the enjoyment until she could review it unemotionally. The man was over twice her age and had things been different, she'd never even have known he wasn't in Canada or wherever it was he had supposedly gone to for his sabbatical. Be sensible, she told herself. She was nothing if not sensible, and a firm belief in mind over body meant she could control her silly hormonal surges and beat them into submission. She could be curious about the man, but not THAT kind of curious.  
  
Hermione re-shelved the book and decided she'd indulged far too long. She had studying to do, and in any case obsessing about Severus Snape was a losing proposition, no matter what. If their current tentative truce and lack of hostilities could be made permanent they might become friends, but anything else was a fantasy that needed to be discouraged. She gave her out-of-control body a severe talking-to and determined to ignore the disturbing sensuality the man had summoned.  
  
Despite her foray into Snape's past, Hermione finished her work well before dinner and decided to join the stragglers heading for Gryffindor tower. Colin Creevey called to her as she climbed the stairs, and she paused to wait for him. For a moment she thought she saw Draco Malfoy standing at the foot of the lower landing, but when she looked again, no one was there.  
  
Inside the Gryffindor common room, students lounged around, some lethargically working on their homework, the majority simply glad the day was over and waiting for the dinner hour to arrive. At one of the small tables, Ron, Ginny, and Harry were talking to Parvati Patel, and Hermione drifted over to join them and was quickly overcome with a sense of history repeating itself.  
  
"I can't believe you two," Parvati was saying, obviously incensed. "The test is tomorrow, for Circe's sake. Were you just going to make it up?"  
  
"Always worked before," muttered Ron.  
  
"What on earth are you still doing taking Divination, Ron?" Hermione asked lightly. "I'm surprised you haven't worked your way up to slaughtering chickens to see what their entrails tell you."  
  
"Some people have no gift," Parvati sniffed in a fair imitation of Madame Trelawney. "Come on, give me your hand." She grimaced as Ron's slightly dirty, broom-callused hand landed in hers, but inspected it carefully.  
  
"Oh, this is really interesting. See here, your love line is very distinct, but eventually it joins your life line. You'll have many girlfriends, but you won't meet your soul mate for a very long time."  
  
"Really? How long?"  
  
"Hard to tell. It's a bit blurred, which may mean you'll know her for a while before you fall in love with her. But it's definitely someone you don't know right now."  
  
"Jammy cow," muttered Ginny over her shoulder to Hermione. The two had become close friends while Hermione had been seeing Ron, and Ginny had been as disappointed as anyone when it became clear Hermione would not become her sister-in-law.  
  
"So when?" demanded Ron. "How much time have I got?"  
  
"I'd say, oh, about the time you're forty."  
  
"Forty! That's brilliant!"  
  
"What?" Demanded Ginny, as Harry snorted with laughter. "What's so brilliant about that?"  
  
"Well," said Ron reasonably, "It means that I'll at least live to see forty, and I don't have to worry about getting serious with anyone until then." He looked at Hermione, then deliberately away, and Hermione felt her face go red.  
  
"Ow-OW! Hey, that hurt!" yelled Ron, as his sister and his best friend each kicked the shin closest to them. "What was that for?"  
  
"For being a clueless git," Harry informed him.  
  
"Exactly," confirmed Ginny. "All right, then. Read Harry's palm."  
  
"Absolutely not," Parvati refused. "Just looking at his palm makes my head hurt. The last time I tried to tell his future I had a migraine for hours."  
  
"Then read Hermione's," Ron said unexpectedly. "She's got a bright future ahead of her, doesn't she?"  
  
Despite her protests, Hermione was prodded forward and pushed into the chair Ginny vacated for her. Parvati's light brown hands took hers and she peered at the creases and lines in the palm.  
  
"Well?" prompted Hermione.  
  
"You won't believe this," Parvati began.  
  
"I probably won't believe it anyway," Hermione said.  
  
"I'd say your life either has or very soon will take a huge change in direction, one you're not expecting."  
  
"Let me guess. A tall, dark, handsome stranger is going to sweep me off my feet."  
  
"Guessed it in one," said Parvarti simply, and dropped her hand.  
  
Hermione laughed. Snape WAS tall, and dark, and he might have swept her off the stool when it had wobbled on her, but that was only half of the prediction and fifty percent was only to be expected when it came to divination - or just wildly guessing.  
  
*****  
  
Stepping through the illusion wall from the lab to the Isolation Ward, Severus Snape caught sight of Hermione's tangled mane of hair hanging at knee level and stopped short.  
  
"Miss Granger?" he questioned, and she looked up suddenly. She was kneeling on the floor by the desk, her head practically upside-down. Books and other homework were spread out on the desk, and several sheets of parchment hanging haphazardly from the shelf of the stores case.  
  
"Dropped my quill," she explained, having retrieved the item from the floor at the back of the desk. She clambered up from her knees and pulled the chair back under her seat.  
  
"I see. This is Thursday, is it not?"  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
"Ah. Then I have no reason to doubt my sanity. Why, pray tell, are you here?" The words were sharper than he intended, but her sudden appearance was unsettling. He'd dreamed about her just last night, in this very room, and to see her here now was more than a little disturbing.  
  
Severus had spent the entirety of Wednesday afternoon working in the same lab with Hermione and had been on the point of asking her one thing more times than he could count. In the end, he'd bid her good afternoon and watched her leave without voicing the request that had begun to dominate his thoughts - to ask her to recast the sensitivity charm once more.  
  
For a man who had convinced himself he loathed children, especially when it involved teaching them a subject they cared so little about, Severus had been reluctantly enthralled by the fluttering of his own child's movement. His curiosity had quickly grown into a fascination, and by the time he'd gone to bed last night, he'd determined to ask her to do it again, regardless of what it cost his dignity.  
  
And once asleep, he'd dreamed that she had agreed. On the same cot as before, the one currently only six feet behind him, the dream-Hermione had laid down and pulled up her sweater. But instead of placing his hand on her gravid belly, he'd reached up and pinned her to the mattress, ignoring the sounds of her terrified whimpers as he'd kissed her savagely. The sound of Lucius Malfoy's laughter had brought him to heart-pounding wakefulness in his silent, empty bedroom, and any further sleep had been impossible.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to impose." Hermione shuffled her papers together, but her pensive, harried manner bothered him and made him regret even more his sharp tones.  
  
"You're not imposing. However, I am curious as to why you're here when you're not required."  
  
"It doesn't matter," she told him with a tired shrug of one shoulder. "I'm just hiding today."  
  
"Hiding? From what, may I ask?"  
  
"It's a whom. Draco Malfoy."  
  
"Malfoy? Explain," he said sharply, using the same voice that demanded immediate obedience from students, and she was already conditioned to it.  
  
"Every day this week, Draco's been waiting in the stairway to Gryffindor tower when afternoon classes are over."  
  
"Waiting," Severus repeated, as if to confirm.  
  
"All he does is watch me walk by him, but I just couldn't bear to see his face today. I thought I'd come here instead."  
  
Restless, he paced slowly across the room, passing behind her chair. "Does he say anything to you?"  
  
"No. He hasn't said much of anything to me since the last time he tried to grab me."  
  
"When was this?" Severus demanded.  
  
"About a month ago. I threatened to hex him with a sex change."  
  
"And why didn't you report him?"  
  
"I had other things on my mind that day."  
  
Snape was silent for a moment. "You said he grabbed you? How?"  
  
"He grabbed my wrists and pushed me up against the wall."  
  
"What did he say at that time?"  
  
When Hermione didn't answer immediately, Severus turned to look at her. Her eyes were on the floor, and the flush of her cheeks made him wish he hadn't pushed, but it was too late.  
  
"He said - he said that if I were good enough for you, then I was good enough for him. That I was your whore, and then he tried to kiss me. Well, he did kiss me."  
  
Appalled, Severus could not have stopped his next question if he'd been under an Imperius, though he dreaded to hear the answer. "And then?"  
  
"Then I bit him," she said with satisfaction.  
  
Snape snorted, amused despite himself.  
  
"He knows what happened, doesn't he?" she asked, this time with less confidence.  
  
"His father obviously told him some part of the tale."  
  
Resuming his pacing, Severus didn't want to talk. He wanted to find Draco Malfoy and hurt him. Badly. Instead he let his restless pace carry him to Hermione's side, where he dropped to one knee beside her chair, his face on level with hers.  
  
"Be careful, Hermione. Do not be alone with young Malfoy. Do not allow him to approach you, no matter what."  
  
"I am Head Girl, you know," Hermione reminded him. "If I cannot handle one obnoxious Slytherin, then I should turn in my badge." She suddenly recalled to whom she was speaking. "No offense, Professor."  
  
"None taken," he said dryly. "However. You are vulnerable, in your condition. Even a Tickling charm can set off uncontrollable muscle spasms and cause you to miscarry."  
  
Hermione's eyes widened and she nodded in understanding, but Severus placed his hand over hers. "If you ever have need of me and cannot find me here, I'm most likely in the gallery upstairs."  
  
She frowned, and he explained the picture gallery on the floor above the Hospital wing. It was unused and dusty, but had enough room to let him pace when his rooms became too confining. "The portraits start with the Founding Four of Hogwarts and go on from there; nothing but wizards with white beards and witches who are even more formidable than Poppy. Who would no doubt frown on my leaving the ward without her permission."  
  
Hermione felt only the barest need to defend the mediwitch; after all, she had kept Harry under wraps many times, no matter how anxious his friends were. "She can be a bit much sometimes," she admitted.  
  
"Should she ever decide to leave Hogwarts, I shall be sure to issue her glowing references to be appointed head matron at Azkaban. Since I am currently at her mercy, however, I have no choice but to comply."  
  
"But you've manage to escape her," Hermione commented, thinking of the concealment charm he'd used to walk through the Hospital ward.  
  
"Well, I am a wizard, Miss Granger. I have more up my sleeve than arm." With superior air he pulled an inch or so of black ebony from his left sleeve. Like many wizards, he kept his wand in his sleeve, where it was within easy reach and didn't poke unexpectedly like the wand pocket sewn into the school robes. Hermione had never really paid attention to Snape's wand; he used it rarely and had made his opinion of foolish wand waving perfectly clear from the first day of classes.  
  
The dark length of wood was strangely fascinating to her, and she had a sudden impulse to reach out and grasp it. She controlled herself, however, since such an action would be incredibly rude and a violation of the most basic wizardly etiquette. Most wizards would rather share a toothbrush than let someone else handle their wand.  
  
The impulse passed as Snape tucked the wand back under the black cuff of his coat, but Hermione glimpsed the light gray edge of the Dark Mark on the inside of his wrist and it set of another series of impulsive mental connections she referred to as a Brilliant Idea.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore is really at a disadvantage without you keeping an eye on Voldemort, isn't he?" she asked seriously.  
  
"I would not place an overwhelming value on my previous activities, but at this stage, the loss of any intelligence is too much."  
  
Hermione nodded and shoved a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. "I know it's not much, but there are some newspapers that publish all sorts of trash."  
  
"Yes, it's called the Daily Prophet," he drawled.  
  
"No, not them, though they're just as bad. I'm talking about Muggle papers. The Sentinel, and the like. They're always full of tosh like the PM's wife being an alien and the like." Aware of Snape's lurking impatience, she hurried. "The thing is, last summer I was clearing out my parent's surgery and I came across one that said a house had been blown up by devil worshippers. And in the photo, I swear I saw the Dark Mark over the rubble."  
  
"Last summer, you say? Do you remember the date, or where it was?"  
  
"Sometime in early August, maybe, and I think it was in Basingstoke."  
  
Snape racked his memory. "I'll ask the headmaster if he knows of an attack." He frowned thoughtfully at Hermione. "And you think these rags might give us information we don't have," he surmised.  
  
"Every little bit helps," she replied.  
  
"I'll speak to him tonight," Snape told her. "In the meantime, make use of those two clowns you call friends. Tell them whatever you wish, but don't take any chances. Draco Malfoy may not yet have sunk to his father's level, but he's on a slippery incline and I give sod-all for his chances of escaping the path Lucius Malfoy has planned for him."  
  
*****  
  
Just before midnight, Severus Snape again found himself sneaking through the long hallways of Hogwarts as he made his way to the Headmaster's office. Once there, he helped himself to the decanter of single malt scotch Dumbledore kept locked in the bottom of his desk, and on reflection offered to pour the headmaster a glass of his own liquor.  
  
"No, thank you," Dumbledore refused politely, watching his former Potions Master sip the amber fluid and move restlessly about the office.  
  
"Miss Granger came up with an interesting notion this afternoon," Severus began, dispensing with any small talk and directly laying out the idea. "It may be waste of time to wade through Muggle papers for hints of Death Eater activity, but I've a surplus of that on my hands these days."  
  
"Very well," Dumbledore agreed. "I'll make arrangements for Hogwarts to subscribe to some of these more lurid journals. You may need to apply to Miss Granger for explanations on some of the Muggle references, but I trust in her discretion."  
  
"She's very discreet," Snape allowed. "Too much so, perhaps. Draco Malfoy has been harassing her."  
  
Albus Dumbledore leaned forward, concern showing on his lined face. "Has he?"  
  
"Nothing overt, but he's being somewhat blatant in his attentions. If he discovers Miss Granger is with child, Lucius Malfoy will know immediately."  
  
"There's nothing I can do to expel the boy," mused the headmaster. "Not unless he commits an act grievous enough to make the school's board of governors withstand the pressure Malfoy Senior would bring to bear to have him reinstated."  
  
"If Lucius knew she were carrying my child, there's no telling what he'd do to her to get at me. I'll do whatever it takes to keep Hermione out of his clutches; the once was more than enough."  
  
"Severus," began Dumbledore seriously, "despite whatever personal enmity exists between you and Lucius Malfoy, the baby Hermione is carrying has quite possibly greater significance than as a bargaining chip. The child was conceived on Samhain, and by force. That's an auspice I shudder to consider."  
  
"The Malfoys don't believe in the old ways," Severus objected. "The have no respect for the ancient rituals, even the dark ones."  
  
"But Voldemort most certainly does," countered Dumbledore. "Look at what Lilly Potter did with just the wandless magic of a mother's love for her child."  
  
"Primitive magic," Severus said with a snort. "And at the cost of her own life."  
  
"Don't confuse elemental or primitive with ineffective, my boy. After all, a club is quite primitive, but I for one do not wish to be on the receiving end of such."  
  
Watching the younger wizard lounging against the window frame, scowling ferociously, Dumbledore smiled to himself. Just a month ago, the man had barely spoken more than a sentence at a time and refused to participate in the most basic efforts to save his own life. Now, here he stood, angry and sharp-witted and once more the ally Dumbledore had valued for so long.  
  
~Bravo, Miss Granger, ~ he thought to himself. ~Bravo.~ 


	9. Chapter 9

Dabbing a rag at his pot of broom-handle polish, Harry Potter settled into the old sofa in the Gryffindor common room and filled in the nasty scratch from a wild bludger, gained during the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor match yesterday. As captain of the team, he had to spend a lot more game time near his other players to keep an eye on the action as well as searching for the Snitch, and it put him in the line of fire for stray bludgers. His Firebolt was getting battle scarred, but it still flew like a dream and he took obsessive care of it.  
  
At one of the tables near the fireplace, Ron Weasley was doing his best to hide a smirk while waiting for Dean Thomas to make a move. Even from across the room, Harry could tell Dean was in serious trouble, although the pile of white pieces at Ron's elbow was a dead giveaway as well. Dean chewed on his thumbnail for several long, agonizing moments before finally moving his bishop. He left his finger on it for a moment, double-checking his move, then at last let go of the piece, his hand inscribing a cross in the air over it as if consigning it to its fate.  
  
Ron's move was swift and merciless; the bishop was quickly dispatched by a red knight. The vanquished bishop rolled off the chessboard and joined its fellows, muttering dire threats about excommunicating the horseman.  
  
"Checkmate," Ron declared. "Good game, though."  
  
"Right," Dean said with a shrug. "I think I'll take what little dignity I've got left and go to bed."  
  
"Yeah, it is getting a bit late. See you."  
  
Harry watched Ron put the chess pieces away, absently giving Dean a good night as the boy went up the staircase. The scratch on his broom was nearly mended but he had a charm he wanted to try on the polish to harden it.  
  
"Ron," he asked quietly.  
  
"Yeah, Harry?"  
  
"When are you going to stop being such a complete prat about Hermione?"  
  
Ron's ears went a bit red and he began picking at the worn arm of his chair. "Dunno what you mean."  
  
"You know exactly what I mean. Every time you're in the same room as her, you act like you barely know her. I thought you two were going to stay friends."  
  
"Come on, Harry. She broke up with me."  
  
"You were the one who told me it was mutual."  
  
"Well, if you call mutual her throwing a potion bottle at me in the middle of a flaming row," Ron protested.  
  
"You two fought nearly every day the entire time you were together," Harry pointed out.  
  
"So?"  
  
"So maybe you weren't meant to be together," Harry told him. "Maybe Hermione isn't the right girl for you. She could care less about Quidditch and neither one of us understands half of what she says sometimes."  
  
Ron heaved a sigh. It wasn't as if this were a new thought; Harry had said it more than a dozen times in the four months since the two had broken up. For once, thought, Ron was actually listening.  
  
"Maybe. It's just hard, Harry."  
  
"I know it is, mate," Harry told him sympathetically. "But it's hard for Hermione, too. And she's got things pretty hard for her right now anyway." Harry had no intention of revealing Hermione's secret, but he was sick of watching his two best friends be miserable.  
  
"Well, she's Head Girl, and she's got top marks, what has she got to be miserable." Ron trailed off as the portrait hole opened and admitted a handful of students barely making it in before curfew. One of them was his sister, who plopped down beside Harry. "Honestly, Ginny! There's half a sofa left; you don't have to sit right next to Harry."  
  
Ginny stuck her tongue out at her brother, and scooted even closer to her boyfriend. "You're just jealous."  
  
"No, I'm revolted. At least you don't kiss him every moment you get a..URG!" he protested as Ginny did just that. "Harry! Do you mind not snogging my sister right in front of me?"  
  
"Then turn 'round," Harry told him, pulling a giggly Ginny to him and repeating the kiss.  
  
When Harry released her, she shifted and pulled the pot of broom wax out from under her leg. "I see you've been polishing your broomstick while I've been away," she commented outrageously.  
  
Harry just grinned at her, while Ron made retching noises.  
  
"So, what have you two been up to?" she asked, dragging Harry's arm around her waist.  
  
"Nothing," Ron muttered, while Harry gave him a look.  
  
"I was telling your idiot brother to lay off Hermione. She's having a rough patch right now."  
  
"Oh, I know. Malfoy's been a complete pillock."  
  
"What's Malfoy got to do with Hermione?" Ron demanded.  
  
"Isn't that what you just said?" Ginny asked, confused.  
  
"No, it isn't," Harry said. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, if you two haven't noticed, Draco Malfoy's been hanging around this part of the castle for days now. I only just noticed it about a week or so ago. Hermione and I were walking back to Gryffindor and she just stopped and turned around, and I saw Draco standing in the hall just opposite the stairs. Hermione made up some rubbish about forgetting something, but he's been there every single day. Really creepy, if you ask me."  
  
"He's dead," Ron vowed, grinding his fist into his other hand.  
  
"Hang on a minute," Harry told him. "If he's not done anything to her, you'll just get in trouble."  
  
"I don't care what he's done or not done," Ron retorted. "If he so much as lays one finger on her, I'll pound him one."  
  
"Ron, stop it!" Ginny snapped. "You're not her boyfriend, so stop acting like a caveman."  
  
"Ginny's right, Ron. Besides, we don't know what Malfoy's up to."  
  
"It's a sure thing he's up to no good," Ron muttered.  
  
"Perhaps. Malfoy's a nasty piece of work, but sometimes I wonder about him. I've watched him sometimes when he doesn't realize anyone's looking."  
  
"Do you really?" Ginny murmured, incredulous, causing him to blush furiously.  
  
"Not like that!" he protested, laughing. "What I mean is, sometimes I actually feel sorry for him. He doesn't have any real friends, not really. He's got those two great walking slabs of meat with him all the time, and he's gone through just about every girl who'll give him the time of day, but that's it."  
  
"His dad's a real prize, too," Ginny added. "That last match against Slytherin, I left my scarf in the stands, and when I went back to get it, Malfoy was getting reamed out by his father for losing the game."  
  
"Yeah, well I imagine Harry would have reamed us all out if we'd lost instead," Ron commented.  
  
"He might have yelled, but I don't think he'd have back-handed you and knocked you down."  
  
"Malfoy did that to his own kid?" Ron asked.  
  
"With his fist," Ginny confirmed.  
  
"Lovely," Harry said sarcastically. "My Uncle Vernon is a horrible person, but at least he's never hit me."  
  
"Oh, come on, Harry! First you tell me Snape's not as bad as we've always thought him, and now you're going to make me feel sorry for Malfoy?! What next - You-Know-Who needs a hug?"  
  
"Shut it, Ron," his sister told him. "I think that Draco may a crush on Hermione."  
  
"You're joking!" exclaimed Ron. "Please, tell me you're joking!"  
  
"Not really," Ginny explained. "The first day on the platform at King's Cross, he came right up to her and spoke to her. He used to just ignore her unless you two were around to irritate as well."  
  
"And if he did fancy her, he'd never admit it. He'd just act like a complete git, which is exactly what he's doing now." Harry pushed his glasses up decisively. "Whatever his reasons, I think we need to watch out for Hermione and let her know we're all still her friends. Agreed?" He gave Ron a stern look.  
  
Ron slumped in his chair. "All right, Harry. I'll give it a shot. I still love her, you know."  
  
"I know, mate. So do I. But I was never IN love with her, and neither are you. You just haven't figured that out yet."  
  
Ron gave Harry a sour look, but he didn't argue.  
  
*****  
  
A stack of medicinal chocolate in the shape of little hearts confronted Hermione as she dug into yet another one of Madame Pomfrey's cabinets. Valentine's day had been two weeks ago and in a frenzy of enthusiasm for the season the mediwitch had transfigured her supplies into romantic motifs. Unfortunately chocolate didn't take well to multiple transfiguration, and now the infirmary was stuck with the leftover hearts getting in the way every time you went looking for something.  
  
"Lost something, Miss Granger?"  
  
Hermione jumped, narrowly avoiding falling over, and let out a yelp. "You enjoy that, don't you?"  
  
"Perhaps," Snape allowed, looking remarkably like Crookshanks at his most inscrutable. "What are you looking for?"  
  
"I was hoping Madame Pomfrey had some clothing catalogs." Giving up, she straightened up and shut the cabinet.  
  
"Why?" he drawled.  
  
Hermione really wished he hadn't done that. She could blame the reaction on hormones, but the elemental connection she felt with Severus Snape thrummed with his voice and made her nerves jump in a way that was not in the least unpleasant.  
  
"Well, I need some new clothes, and I can hardly dash down to Diagon Alley and go shopping, can I? And the last thing I want to do is go into Hogsmeade and start buying them. The one brochure I've found so far was only a few pages, and had nothing I could use."  
  
"You are in need of a catalog for 'fat' clothes?" he queried.  
  
"Yes. You see, in the vastly inferior Muggle world, companies that sell clothing, cooking gear, and all other variety of needs put out of a catalog. You mail them with a list of what you want and the money for it, and they mail you what you asked for." Her saccharine sarcasm was not lost on him, and he raised a mocking eyebrow in return.  
  
"Assuming the order is the correct size, color, and the entire process has not been sabotaged by a postal system having a fit of the sulks," he added smoothly.  
  
"That's the dust men, not the post."  
  
"Either way, it is not entirely unheard of in the wizard world, Miss Granger."  
  
"Good. Then I can get some more clothing before the ones I have are completely useless."  
  
"Need some more clothing, do you, Hermione?" questioned Madame Pomfrey as she left her office. "I'm surprised you've made it this long, my dear. You're nearly halfway now."  
  
"Yes," admitted Hermione. "My blouses are getting too tight and none of my uniform skirts fasten properly. Everything's being held shut with loops of string."  
  
As a man trapped in the middle of women discussing clothes, Snape showed remarkably little discomfort over the subject matter, but did frown at her. "What possible role could string play in keeping your clothing intact?"  
  
"You make a loop around the button hole and put the loop over the button," answered Madame Pomfrey briskly, as though the answer were obvious. "It gives you another couple of inches. I remember my first. He's older than you are now, Severus, but I remember I cried when I had to buy larger robes. My husband told me I was silly, and I never forgave him for that." Pomfrey sighed at the memory before giving Hermione a stern look. "I'll wager you'll also be needing new underclothes, if I don't miss my guess. I never minded the addition to my cleavage, but it was always uncomfortable until I switched to a larger size."  
  
"You'll start to waddle soon, too," added Madame Pomfrey helpfully.  
  
"I'll what!?" Hermione wasn't sure which was more appalling; the frank discussion of her undergarments with Severus Snape standing there, or the comments on Pomfrey's cleavage. As it happened she did need new clothing from the skin out, but that wasn't something she wanted to admit.  
  
"You are top in your form in Transfigurations, Miss Granger. Surely you've mastered the basic Enlargement Charm."  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes at Snape, even though she was not offended by his comment. A sardonic glint reflected back from his dark gaze, and she was gratified he was comfortable enough to tease her. "I had thought of that, but the charm only lasts so long, and it tends to wear off at exactly the wrong time." He opened his mouth, and she interrupted him. "And I'm not handing over all my bras for someone else to charm, either."  
  
"Perhaps a trip to Diagon Alley would be in order."  
  
Hermione felt her cheeks redden, but she refused to give in. "I only have about ten Galleons to spend, sir. I cannot afford to go on a shopping spree. I only need a few casual clothes, and some modified school uniforms."  
  
"I will pay for anything you might need, Miss Granger," Snape volunteered in a repressive voice. When she tried to protest, he insisted. "I have more money than I need or could possibly spend in a single afternoon. You could not bankrupt me with a year of such excursions."  
  
"You've never seen me shop, Professor Snape. I assure you I could." A slight smile crossed his face, and she was ridiculously glad to see it.  
  
"Please," he added in a low voice. "Allow me to do this for you."  
  
"All right," she said softly. "Would this weekend be too soon?"  
  
Madame Pomfrey answered the question, although her expression showed she was less than enthusiastic for the idea. "Actually, Miss Granger, it might be prudent to plan this expedition on a weekday morning. No students will be wandering the halls to see Severus and yourself leaving Hogwarts, and there will be fewer people in Diagon Alley to bear tales to those who were better left in the dark about his recovery."  
  
"I agree," Snape added. "Will you be devastated to miss Potions class tomorrow morning?"  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise. Two of his droll comments in as many minutes, and the last one nearly an outright joke.  
  
"I'm sure I shall bear the disappointment, Professor," she said stoutly. The corner of his mouth twitched.  
  
The next morning Hermione dutifully picked at her breakfast and complained to her fellow Gryffindors about feeling ill until someone had suggested she go to the nurse, advice she had taken immediately. Madame Pomfrey had then sent a note to Professor Cluny, stating Hermione was unwell and would not be in class that morning. She'd left Hermione to make her way to the unused portrait gallery to wait for Snape to appear once the classes had begun.  
  
At the end of the corridor outside the Hospital wing, a pokey flight of stairs led unevenly up and in the opposite direction of the wing, eventually opening into a long gallery at the corner of the castle. Snape had not exaggerated; the portraits in the hall featured stern-faced witches and wizards of indeterminate age, all of whom looked as though they'd just bit into a particularly vile flavored Bertie Botts Every Flavor Bean.  
  
Shivering slightly, Hermione wrapped her cloak tightly around her and wandered down the length of the room. She had discarded the heavy scholastic robes with the distinctive Gryffindor emblem that would instantly let every person in Diagon Alley know she was skipping school. Instead she wore a set of plain robes in nondescript blue she'd bought for functions that were not dress but where her school uniform was inappropriate. They were tighter than they were last year, if more comfortable than her outgrown school uniform, as there was no waistband to constrict the undeniable swelling. It only stuck out a few inches, but was undeniably a pregnant belly.  
  
The house elves had obviously neglected the place for some time; it was musty and stale and barely warmer than the late February winter outside. Cobwebs draped the frames and the cold iron chandeliers were caked with ancient wax drippings. The only signs of disturbance were the footprints of a man's heavy boots in the dust. Cold and just a bit nervous, she began to follow the trail in the path scuffed through the heavy dust on the floor as she waited for Snape to appear.  
  
"Whatever has you so wound up so early in the morning, Miss Granger?" came a voice from behind her. When she turned, Snape stood in the stairway entrance, a heavy gray cloak over one arm.  
  
"Would you believe I'm feeling guilty about not feeling guilty?"  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
Hermione could not help but laugh. "I think I'm getting used to the travails of subterfuge, Professor. Before this, I would have been in hives at the thought of skiving off class for a shopping trip."  
  
"I would have thought Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter would long ago have broken you of your nerves, Miss Granger. Surely they have dragged you into more exotic escapades before this. I seem to recall an episode regarding the Astronomy Tower and a baby dragon, if I'm not mistaken?"  
  
She smiled, but kept her lips firmly sealed against either confirming or denying his jibe, and he bowed mockingly as her silence.  
  
"Ah, well. Perhaps I was mistaken," he mused. "Evidently you were the voice of reason, and did your best to prevent those two from breaking every rule known to this establishment."  
  
"Of course, Professor," she agreed blandly, and it was his turn to smile.  
  
"Shall we, Miss Granger?"  
  
He offered his arm, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. He seemed to have second thoughts about his action, but as she did not refuse, slowly relaxed and led the way down the stairs, through a secondary corridor and out a little-used door, one she had never seen before. It opened onto a narrow lane between the castle proper and the tall stone walls that surrounded Hogwarts closely on this side. The overhanging trees on were bare, and leaves scuttled under their feet as they walked. Here and there patches of the last snowfall lay in drifts against the wall. In just a short while, they rounded the corner to see the broad lawn open before them, with the main gates just ahead.  
  
Once outside the gate, Snape led her just a few yards further, then turned to her.  
  
"Give me your hands," Snape requested, holding out his own. "I'll Apparate us to the taproom at the Leaky Cauldron."  
  
"I thought we'd use a portkey," Hermoine said, confused and a little alarmed.  
  
"I happen to be very good at Apparating, Miss Granger. You can trust me." His expression closed down, and Hermione had no trouble imagining to what use he'd put his skill in tandem Apparating while in Voldemort's service.  
  
"I trust you," she told him simply, and put her cold bare fingers in his.  
  
His dark eyes pinned her for a long moment, then his hands tightened on hers and he uttered the short spell that Apparated them to Diagon Alley.  
  
*****  
  
High above the rest of Hogwarts, Poppy Pomfrey accepted a cup of tea from Dumbledore and tutted fretfully as she watched two small figures walking out the main gates.  
  
"I really don't know what you think you're doing, Albus. Severus is physically recovered, but he's not up to handling any serious trouble. What are you thinking of, letting him escort Ms. Granger this way? I could have taken her just as well. It's just plain cruel, having them spend time together."  
  
"They spend time together in your laboratory, Poppy," Dumbledore answered blandly. "Surely this cannot be any worse."  
  
Poppy eyed him suspiciously. "What are you up to, Albus?"  
  
"Nothing, I assure you. Simply letting nature take its course."  
  
"Nature has already taken its course, and Miss Granger is the worst for it. How ever will she provide for a child, on her own? Her family might take her in, but mark my words, unless Severus takes some responsibility for his actions, she'll have a hard road of it."  
  
"Severus Snape has taken more responsibility for his actions than any wizard I have ever known, Poppy," Dumbledore commented quietly. "And he's paid a higher price for it. It is my fondest hope that this entire situation might lighten his load, not increase it."  
  
Poppy Pomfrey gave a small, lady-like snort, but did not reply.  
  
"Who was it bullied him out of his depression, Poppy? Nothing you or I did made one jot of difference. A few sharp words from Miss Granger and he had a new will to live, if only to once more take house points from her."  
  
"Don't be melodramatic, Albus. Severus responded to the potion, not the brewer."  
  
The headmaster nearly snorted in his tea as Poppy echoed his very own words back to him. "I'm sure you know best," he said simply, and offered her another biscuit. 


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione was familiar with the disorienting spinning involved with Floo travel and had apprehensively nerved herself to endure it. If anything, Apparating was worse. Instead of her body moving, she felt her feet remain firmly on the ground as the world around her swooped and turned, things rushing past her too quickly to see but leaving an lurid, multi-colored blur. She gulped and closed her eyes, willing her stomach to behave itself as she really did not think Severus Snape would appreciate her being sick all over him.  
  
With her eyes closed, she was left with only the whizzing noises in her ears and the warm, firm grip of Snape's hands on hers. She concentrated on that, hoping it would be over before she lost all feeling in her fingers.  
  
"You look positively green, Miss Granger. Are you all right?" Snape's voice sounded concerned, and she cautiously opened one eye to see his dark eyes peering at her with concern. Over his shoulder she could see Tom, the wizened barkeep of the Leaky Cauldron, putting a large plate of breakfast and a pint glass in front of a wizard who looked as though he'd been crawling through ditches all night. The heavy timber construction of the Leaky Cauldron surrounded her on all sides.  
  
"I'm fine, really," she assured him, swallowing carefully and slowly opening both eyes. "But you should be very, very glad I haven't eaten much breakfast."  
  
"I see," he commented, the corner of his mouth quirking up, and she found herself smiling back. He looked much younger without his habitual scowl, and even better when his eyes danced with the understanding that she'd nearly decorated his front. As if he'd just remembered he was holding her hands, he dropped them and nodded towards the entrance to Diagon Alley.  
  
The gate was open to morning traffic and the main alley lay before them, only sparsely populated with older witches and wizards, none of whom seemed to be in any great hurry. Here and there a younger witch shepherded two or three very young children. One was scolding a dirty-faced little boy in a freshly torn cloak, and Hermione looked at them with a growing sense of realization that she might very well be doing that same thing in a few years.  
  
Snape took her elbow, and she allowed him to steer her towards the center of the shopping district where various stores displayed robes in their front windows. He towed her past Madame Malkin's without a second thought and down a narrow side street to a smaller shop. A bright brass plaque on the front, embellished with more curlicues than strictly necessary, proclaimed it as Seignior Vesperatus's Robes for the Genteel Witch or Wizard. The bell above the door chimed richly as he opened it for her.  
  
"Yes, sir?" murmured a breathy voice which reminded Hermione uncomfortably of Professor Trelawney. "What service may we perform for you today?"  
  
The saleswitch who gracefully stepped out of the shadows was tall and painfully thin, but there was a polished hardness around the woman's smile that made Hermione uneasy. The woman's robes had to have cost more than Hermione's entire budget for the last school year.  
  
Snape barely met the woman's eye, instead looking around as if he could see nothing that might possibly meet his standards. At last he gave the saleswitch a glance. "This young lady is expecting. She requires a new set of robes to see her through the next few months, ones that will allow for..." His hand made a vague gesture towards Hermione's middle section. "Expansion."  
  
"Of course," agreed the woman, just barely this side of gushing. "If you'll follow me, madam. We have a lovely selection of spring items just in."  
  
With a desperate glance towards Snape, Hermione trailed after the elaborately gesturing witch. Several robes were soon presented, some of which she rejected as plainly silly, but she could not help but admire a few choices that were exquisite. When she'd gone through the entire display, the saleswitch suddenly remembered another piece that she declared Hermione would be devastated to have missed and disappeared into the back room. Snape walked up behind her as Hermione was looking at another.  
  
"Are you finding anything suitable?" he asked in a low voice, for once not startling her as she fondled one of the garments draped over a gilt chair.  
  
"Finding things that are incredibly beautiful, yes. I'm not so sure about suitable. After all, I'm going to be wearing my school robes most of the time, so I really don't need much. And look at these!" she insisted, holding up one robe. A lovely deep rose color, it featured an empire waist, where contrasting rosettes hid discreet gathers of additional material and gave it a graceful appearance.  
  
"It's quite attractive, and would go well with your coloring. You should get it," he told her.  
  
Hermione made an impatient noise. "There are no price tags on these, Professor. I haven't any idea how much they cost, but I'll wager it's a great deal more than ten Galleons!"  
  
Snape merely gave her the same look that quelled her in class, but she did not budge. "There's no reason for me to buy anything this expensive!" she insisted in an undertone.  
  
"I was under the impression that I was footing the bill this morning, Hermione. She'll take the pink, and the black one," he stated in a louder voice, looking over her shoulder to the saleswitch who had returned with another set of robes over her arm. "Do you like that one as well, Miss Granger?"  
  
He took her agonized silence as assent, and picked up two more from the small chair. "These are all excellent choices. We'll take the lot," he ordered, and the woman started slightly before taking the fabric from Snape's hands. She gave him a simpering smile, but her gaze returned to Hermione, flickering back and forth between her waistline and her hand.  
  
"Miss Granger," she drawled, questioningly, and an ugly sneer appeared before sliding into a condescending smirk. "If there is nothing else Miss wishes to see?"  
  
The unusual emphasis on the Miss caused Hermione to pause, until she realized the saleswitch was pointed looking at her bare left hand.  
  
"No, thank you," she replied with as much dignity as she could. Deliberately she pulled her cloak off the hook where she'd hung it earlier and swung it around her shoulders. "I believe we've wasted enough money here today," she added, and the older woman sniffed with disdain.  
  
Drawn from the contemplation of a finely embroidered vest worn by a man- shaped wire birdcage, Severus gave Hermione a glance for her uncharacteristic comment but said nothing as he followed the saleswitch to the front of the store. The garments were swiftly and roughly folded and stuffed into a fancy box with the boutique's name on it. He frowned at the untidy package, but signed the sales slip and ran the tip of his wand across it, authorizing the withdrawal from his Gringotts account.  
  
His frown grew as the witch behind the counter ignored Hermione's perfunctory thank-you as she took the package. It was not until the woman sniffed once more and suggested that another establishment further down the Alley might better meet the young miss's future needs that he understood the woman's attitude. The disapproval in her voice was palatable.  
  
Only Neville Longbottom had ever been priviledged to see the storm of outrage that came over his features as the situation became clear to him.  
  
"Don't," Hermione said quietly, laying her hand on his arm as he opened his mouth, and she nearly flinched as his anger focused on her. "It's not worth it, really. Madame Pomfrey mentioned that something like this might happen."  
  
"How dare she!" he thundered, shooting a deadly glare at the stiff-backed woman pointedly ignoring them behind the counter.  
  
"There's no point," Hermione stressed. "Are you going to tell her how I got this way? The best assumption she can make is that I'm your mistress, and it goes rapidly downhill from there."  
  
"The point, Miss Granger," he outlined in scathing tones, "is that I have spent countless Galleons in this establishment, a trend which shall forthwith come to a screeching halt. How dare that overblown sow look down on you?"  
  
"How dare she disapprove of my having an illegitimate baby?" Hermione asked, resigned. "It's not easily accepted, even in the Muggle world. I still haven't figured out a way to tell my parents about this, and I'm fast running out of time."  
  
Refusing to say another word, Snape took the large box from Hermione and escorted her back to the main thoroughfare. Several stops later, he had apparently dismissed the rude treatment from his thoughts and concentrated on the task at hand. In true male fashion, he had them in and out of the shops before Hermione had a chance to see what was what, but the purchases were quick.  
  
When she slipped on a patch of ice, he took exception to the scuffed condition of Hermione's boots and backtracked to a cobbler's shop. In only a few moments he'd picked out a new pair and had them on her feet, paid for them over her objections and had them both back out on the street without giving her the time to properly appreciate the other shoes offered for sale.  
  
At the establishment showing a variety of rather racy undergarments in their window, Snape had hesitated before telling her to get whatever she fancied, and to let him know when to come in to sign the receipt. For a moment she had the impression that he was about to hand her his wand, but that was as unlikely as his coming in to help her select new brassieres.  
  
As school uniforms were something of a necessity, they did end up at Madame Malkin's. When Hermione picked up several larger school sweaters, Madame Malkin herself noticed Hermione's impending motherhood and mentioned, rather discretely, a pattern she had available for sleeveless dresses. The dressmaker quickly whipped up a set, each with a proper uniform skirt but without a waistband to constrict. With a sweater over the top they were perfectly within regulations.  
  
"You're not the first young lady in her last year of school to be in your situation," Madame Malkin confided in an undertone. "Word does get 'round, and most of them owl me."  
  
After declaring more than once that she'd bought everything she could possibly need and then some, Hermione finally convinced Snape she was finished. He insisted on carrying most of her packages, although he drew the line at the pink bag from the lingerie store. He also turned a deaf ear to her suggestion that he buy himself something - anything - as long as it wasn't either black or white.  
  
"You needn't take too deep a plunge," Hermione assured him. "Maybe try a shirt like that." She pointed at a window display featuring a shirt in a light oatmeal shade. "Too much color at once could put you in shock."  
  
"Ha. I have a green and silver scarf to wear to Quidditch games. That should be sufficient. Besides, my cloak is gray."  
  
"Gray doesn't count. I dare you to buy a green neck-cloth."  
  
"Miss Granger," he growled, and got a smile in return.  
  
"Double dare you."  
  
Snape ignored her and led the way through Diagon Alley with his aloof dignity intact despite the stack of packages he carried. Outside one rather dreary looking shop he paused, then looked at Hermione.  
  
"If I might beg your indulgence, Miss Granger, I'd like to stop here. We shouldn't be too long."  
  
Having seen the mortar and pestle symbol on the sign-board above the door, Hermione agreed readily. Inside the walls were covered in jars and bins of every size, and she breathed deeply the varied exotic smells of a full alchemist's supply house. Snape left their packages in a heap on a chair by the window where they'd be out of the way, and began to browse the shelves.  
  
Hermone tagged along behind Snape, listening to his comments, asking the occasional question, until he came to the end of the row and the last shelf.  
  
"Too bad, really," he commented blandly. "This is a new shop, but they don't appear to have anything beyond the usual."  
  
"Did you ask?"  
  
Snape lowered his eyelids at her, an expression that used to make her quiver with fear, but now earned him a look of speculative challenge before she turned with a deliberate flounce and sought out the attendant.  
  
"Excuse me," she commented to the gangly youth stocking a shelf. "The Potions Master was wondering if you had any more selection than what you've got out on the shelves."  
  
"Potions Master." repeated the youth, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed heavily as he took in Severus' long, dark and imposing figure. "Just one moment, please."  
  
The young man disappeared into the back of the shop, and Snape gave Hermione another repressive look. It lifted, however, as the youth returned with another man, this one much older and wearing spectacles to go with his white hair.  
  
"You are the Master asking to see the rest of my wares?" the old man asked sharply. At Severus' nod, he plunged a hand into the pocket of his apron. "This way, then."  
  
The key and an accompanying charm unlocked the heavy door at the back wall of the shop. Stepping inside, Hermione knew this was something special when Severus drew a sharp breath and the fine lines around his eyes creased like a predator scenting blood.  
  
"Do not touch anything you do not recognize," was the only admonishment he gave her, and led the way further in. Labyrinthine rows lit by small oil lamps offered a selection of things Hermione had never seen and only read about, or in some cases never even heard of. Snape kept up a rapid interrogation of the shopkeeper, who revealed he was an alchemist. He hovered at Snape's elbow, whispering about this ingredient or that's abilities and the methods used to harvest and preserve others.  
  
Hermione lost track of time completely as she listened intently to the two men discussing the potions they'd brewed and the experiments they'd fiddled with. They had Hermione's complete, formidible attention as they talked, and she was aware of the honor as the two men answered her questions and either agreeing with or correcting her rapid conjecture on combinations, side effects, and brewing techniques. Snape occasionally requested the bagging of certain items, and at other times merely showed her the contents of the bins and racks, enumerating the various uses and potions of each substance.  
  
When at last they were through, Snape settled his bill with the old man, then offered his hand and thanks for achieving such an extraordinary establishment. Hermione hid a smile as she moved to retrieve her forgotten packages, thinking he was a bit like a third-year at his maiden visit to Honeydukes. She bent over to pick up the bags on the floor and swayed as a sudden dizziness swept over her.  
  
"Hermione!" Snape's voice was sharp with concern, and the packages tumbled to the floor as he caught her and half-carried her to the nearby bench.  
  
Hermione gasped softly as the world dipped alarmingly a red haze obscuring her vision. She was aware of a strong arm was around her, holding her tightly, and distantly heard Snape issue a curt demand. A tangy, pungent aroma burned her nose and reached her spinning mind, bringing her back to awareness. The movement of Snape's free hand as it discarded the crushed herb was the first thing she focused on. The second was the realization that she was slumped against his body, his arm tightly around her.  
  
"Is your lady going to be alright, sir?" inquired the alchemist.  
  
"She'll be fine, I believe," Snape responded absently, studying Hermione's eyes critically. "I fear I've kept her on her feet far too long." His hand stroked the side of her face gently. "You even told me you'd neglected to eat anything substantial for breakfast, and it's after one o'clock already. No doubt a meal will help you immensely."  
  
She nodded in agreement, still feeling bemused and unsteady. The alchemist swiftly volunteered to have their packages sent to their home, but Hermione only vaguely paid attention as Snape directing them to be delivered to Hogwarts and Madame Pomfrey's attention. Her entire awareness seemed to be centered on the muscular arm holding her shoulders and the warm hand that had descended onto her curved stomach, protectively cupping the swell of her belly. She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in his shoulder and remain in this safe harbor.  
  
With careful solicitude, Snape helped her to her feet and kept a supporting hand under her elbow as he walked her towards the Leaky Cauldron. Within minutes, a cup of tea with more sugar than she actually preferred was pressed on her. Fortunately he did not insist on ordering for her, but he did give her a stern look until she accepted a cup of beefy soup along with her sandwich and chips. A large glass of water appeared as well, and she drank it without complaint.  
  
Snape spoke only a few monotone words to her as they ate. He appeared preoccupied, and she felt too embarrassed at having actually fainted to feel comfortable starting a conversation. A scowl came and went on his features, and the few times his gaze fell on her she felt distinctly uneasy. She ate her lunch and watched the other customers, trying not to irritate him.  
  
"Miss Granger?"  
  
Hermione drew back her wandering wits and noticed that he had finished his meal. She swallowed hard and pushed the remains of her sandwich away. "I'm ready if you are, sir."  
  
"Hermione." He reached out and stilled her hand as she made to leave the table. He seemed fascinated with their two hands on the heavy wooden table surface, and stared at them for several long moments.  
  
"Will you marry me?" 


	11. Chapter 11

(Author's note: First of all, I wish to apologize for the evil cliffhanger last chapter. If I could have received Howlers, I'd be deaf by now. Thank you all for reviewing - I have never received so much feedback on any of my stories. Second: I absolutely stink at maintaining POV, and have decided to quit trying. I'll make sure it's perfectly clear who's thinking what, but I plan to blithely slide from one POV to another without using my turn signals or mirrors. Don't bother to honk.)  
  
*****  
  
Severus Snape had barely noticed the passing scenery as he'd shepherded Hermione to the Leaky Cauldron. Despite his efforts to think of anything else, the young woman at his side had dominated his thoughts.  
  
For the past six weeks, working with Hermione Granger had been a self- imposed penance. Each time he'd avoided snapping at her was another lash of remorse, each time she'd forgotten to treat him with disdain he deserved had been another grain of salt in the wound. However...somewhere in their dealings together, he'd become inured to the pain, even to the point that he actually enjoyed her company, which only showed that the human animal could become used to anything in time.  
  
Instead the close association had shredded some of his assumptions. What he had once dismissed as over-achieving self-aggrandizement he now recognized as the efforts of a brilliant mind struggling to survive in an unfamiliar culture. That brilliance alone would have qualified her for Ravenclaw, but the Sorting Hat had put her in Gryffindor. Courage had always been an over- valued commodity to someone like himself, who'd seen too many foolhardy idiots plunge headlong into dangers they didn't understand. Potter's father had been exactly that, and had paid for it with his life. But Hermione Granger had endured something no woman should ever have to face, and her steady determination to carry on was, frankly, amazing. Her decision to keep the baby had astonished him.  
  
They were going to have a child together. Only there was no 'together,' there was only humiliation and struggle ahead for her, and embarrassment at best for him. Witches did not have children without marriage; the snubbing from the saleswitch at Vespasian's was a fair indication of that public sentiment. To be sure, there were the odd occasions, but the mother was usually sequestered by her family until either a proper husband could be found or the child could be introduced as a cousin or other family relation with an unclear history.  
  
Falling back on the cool logic he'd always relied upon, he realized the only way to alleviate her situation was to see her married. To Ronald Weasley? An obvious but ridiculous choice. Even if the boy were willing, a single glance at the pretend father's flaming red hair would give the game away. And he could not stomach the idea that his child would grow up with the name of Weasley. It should have the name of Snape, and there was only one way to have that happen.  
  
Talk to Dumbledore first? Unnecessary. The headmaster's unsubtle prodding had already made his position clear. Once she agreed, they could visit a jewelsmith, pick her up a ring and have the deed accomplished by dinner. And once he'd said the words, he could do nothing but watch the Muggle-born witch across from him and waited for her to respond.  
  
Somewhat numb with disbelief, Hermione settled on her chair again and stared at the man across from her. A number of responses occurred to her instantly, but 'I beg your pardon' would only have him repeat the question she'd heard perfectly well, while 'are you joking' would only invite sarcastic comment.  
  
"Why?" she responded incredulously. "Professor, you cannot possibly expect me to believe you've suddenly fallen in love with me."  
  
"Love has nothing to do with it," he told her flatly. "You're carrying my child. And, considering the proposal I've just made, it might be more appropriate if you used my given name."  
  
"Love has everything to do with marriage in the Muggle world, Professor."  
  
"You're a witch, Hermione. You live in the Wizard's world. You make every indication you plan to remain here, and if you do, you'll either adjust to it or be crushed by it."  
  
"Do you even like me?" she asked, and suddenly wished she hadn't because she was sure he'd be ruthlessly blunt.  
  
"I don't dislike you," he told her. "We work well together, and you're learning quickly. I had thoughts of offering you an apprenticeship, which would make things easier for us both."  
  
"Getting married is not something to do because it's convenient," she informed him, exasperated.  
  
"As it happens, Hermione, I sincerely doubt I shall survive long enough to be an inconvenience to you." His double meaning was clear; he would not interfere with her taking a lover, whether or not he lived to see the end of the war. It was, unfortunately, exactly the wrong approach to take.  
  
"Don't say that," she snapped, throwing down her napkin. "Don't even talk like that. I hear that same whinging from Harry more than I ever wanted, and I'm sick of it." Enraged, she surged to her feet and walked away from the table.  
  
Snape threw several Sickles on the table and caught her arm in the hallway. Mindful of the other customers watching what was fast coming to resemble a lover's quarrel, he steered her towards a quiet corner.  
  
"I spoke the truth, and I resent you comparing me to Harry Bloody Potter when I've just proposed," he hissed between his teeth. "Now answer the question!"  
  
"No, sir, I will not marry you," she gritted back. "You may be happy being stuck in the Middle Ages, but I was born in the twentieth century, and it's soon to be the twenty-first. What you're proposing is one step away from an arranged marriage!"  
  
"And what is wrong with that? I myself am the product of an arranged marriage."  
  
"And how did it work out? Cakes and best wishes, and grandchildren everywhere?"  
  
Snape's face hardened, and she knew she'd scored a hit. Dumbledore had once told her he was an only child, and he had all the clichés associated with being the child of unhappily married parents. And even though she knew he was only striking back, his next comments were brutal.  
  
"Tell me, Miss Granger. Is the only reason you decided to have this baby is that you feared you would never fall in love, never marry? Were you so afraid of being alone you seized the chance to have a child?"  
  
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. "That was incredibly cruel thing to say, even for you," she whispered.  
  
With a deliberate twist she freed her arm from his grip. "We both know there isn't any way for me to repay what you've bought today, so I won't make any rash promises. But I would like for you to take me home now, and then I'd really rather you never spoke to me again."  
  
*****  
  
Severus retained just enough presence of mind to Apparate them both back to the gates of Hogwarts. Hermione stalked off without a backward glance, and he was nearly seen by one of the students before he remembered to cast the 'do not notice' spell on himself.  
  
The gargoyle outside the stairs to Dumbledore's office was nearly blasted to smithereens before it finally got out of the way of the incredibly brassed-off Potions Master. Once on the stairs, Snape no longer bothered to tread lightly, and Dumbledore heard his stomping approach long before he entered the cozy round office.  
  
The Headmaster gave Snape a look of mild inquiry as he flung off his cloak and spell and crossed the room to stare out the window. He would no doubt have been irritated to know it was the same window Pomfrey had watched him through earlier, but the older wizard judged it best not to speak first.  
  
"I asked Miss Granger to marry me this afternoon," Snape began without preamble.  
  
"Splendid!" exclaimed Dumbledore.  
  
"She turned me down," he snarled at the diamond shaped glass pane in front him.  
  
"She what?" Dumbledore tutted into his beard. "Dear me. Not exactly the response I would have expected."  
  
"Neither did I," Snape managed in the driest sneer of his arsenal. "That brainy little know-it-all. Gryffindors! Too much sentiment and not enough sense!"  
  
"Well, they do tend to be a bit melodramatic," said the Headmaster, tongue firmly planted in his cheek.  
  
"And stubborn. Gods above! I stood there like an idiot, trying to talk her into the idea." Snape shook his head in disbelief at his own gullibility. "I should have made her see it's the only logical solution."  
  
"The man who could force Hermione Granger to change her mind could probably take on Voldemort with a broken wand," Dumbledore observed. "Perhaps you should ask yourself why you want to marry her."  
  
"She's carrying my child. What other reason is there?"  
  
"Severus," began Dumbledore seriously. "Do you even care for the girl?"  
  
Severus opened his mouth and shut it just as quickly. Emotions were a slippery business and he'd spent for far too long perfecting his dispassionate intellect to let sentiment get the better of him now. Regardless of the roiling disquiet and subtle ache in his chest that left him with the overwhelming desire to be sure Hermione Granger was Taken Care Of.  
  
"Well, the young lady isn't interested in you, that's clear enough," Dumbledore continued when it became clear Snape would not answer the question. "Now, as for your trip today. Word of your appearance in Diagon Alley today should reach Voldemort's ear sometime tonight. The spell on your Mark, is it still holding?"  
  
Severus almost touched his left arm, but refrained. "He's tested it now and again, but your distillation spell is still working effectively."  
  
Voldemort summoned his Death Eaters by activating their Mark and could also keep feel them distantly through the same connection. Since Snape's recovery, Dumbledore had cast a spell on the mark to reflect back only the near-death agony Snape had experienced on the night Malfoy had tried to kill him. After the first few weeks, his attempts to ferret Severus out had grown infrequent, since each attempt to activate Snape's mark gave him back the overwhelming pain his servant was supposedly enduring.  
  
"I think you should be seen in Hogsmeade soon. Next week, perhaps."  
  
I'll go by myself," Snape warned him, conveniently forgetting that the young lady in question didn't ever plan on speaking to him again. "I won't have Hermione exposed to danger. Today was bad enough."  
  
"You had the portkey," Dumbledore reminded him carelessly. "You could have sent her back here in an instant."  
  
Snape bristled, annoyed that the old wizard would be so cavalier about endangering Hermione.  
  
"No matter. You might consider an evening expedition, then. Avoid the Three Broomsticks, go to one of the less savory pubs. But don't stay long; a half hour at most. We'll see what kind of flurry that creates among Voldemort's followers. The more doubt and dissention we can create in the ranks, the better."  
  
"What about Hermione?" Snape asked. "You'll see to it she's provided for, if something goes wrong?"  
  
"Oh, you needn't worry about Miss Granger," Dumbledore told him dismissively. "After all, you've done the honorable thing and she's turned you down. You've nothing else to worry about, eh? No reason to bait the hook if the fish aren't biting!" he said with a chuckle.  
  
If Severus had been less absorbed by his personal issues and been paying more attention, he would have noticed the Headmaster's sly smile, and the merry twinkle in the eyes of man who was enjoying himself entirely too much. As it was, he scowled out the window while his ferocious intellect engaged the problem foremost in his mind.  
  
He'd bloody well bait the hook.  
  
******  
  
Hermione stomped through the main hall and up every singe tread of staircase between the front gate and the portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room. In a fury of indignation she stalked through the swirl of students just getting out of their afternoon classes, leaving many of the exchanging odd looks and wondered what had infuriated the normally pleasant Head Girl.  
  
"Tabby cat!" she snarled at the Fat Lady, who gave her an arch look of disapproval before swinging out of the way.  
  
Ron saw her as she entered and stood up, rubbing his hands on his pants. He was gratified when she came towards him, but her stormy expression made him a bit uneasy.  
  
"Um, Hermione. Hi."  
  
Have you seen Harry?" she demanded.  
  
"I think he was getting his Firebolt," Ron said. "Look, I was wondering if we could, you know, talk," he stammered.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ron. Right now I just want to yell at someone, and Harry's first on my list. Maybe later, all right?"  
  
"Um, all right, then," muttered Ron to her back as she made her way up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.  
  
Hermione didn't even bother to knock at the seventh-year boys' door. It made a satisfactory bang as she shoved it open.  
  
"Harry! I jolly well hope you're happy! He's damned well proposed to me!"  
  
Harry sat up abruptly on his bed, his black hair even more untidy than usual, blinking a bit before he grabbed his glasses off the coverlet.  
  
"Well, I was happy, up until you walked in," he groused.  
  
"Who proposed?" asked Ginny, sitting up beside Harry. "Not my idiot brother, surely?" Her long red hair was mussed as well, and only the central three buttons of her blouse remained fastened. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks were just as flushed as Harry's.  
  
Openmouthed and caught in mid-tirade, Hermione finally thought to shut the door and check to be sure no other boys were in the room. Stupid, really, she thought. Harry would hardly be snogging Ginny with an audience.  
  
"Severus Snape," she told Ginny, and crossed her arms irritably, waiting for the girl to quit laughing.  
  
"She's not joking, Ginny," Harry told her. "So he's here at Hogwarts, is he?"  
  
"Yes. I thought you knew."  
  
"Not everything, apparently," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in a futile effort to tame his hair.  
  
"Why on earth would Snape want to marry you?" Ginny asked, confused.  
  
Hermione crossed the room and sat on the end of Harry's bed. Harry's bright green eyes met hers and he nodded slightly, encouraging her to let Ginny into her confidence. Between the two of them, they told Ginny what had happened on Halloween night. The girl listened with wide eyes, biting her lip, and when the tale was done reached out impulsively and hugged Hermione tightly.  
  
"Oh, Hermione!" she said with sniff. "That's horrible."  
  
"Understatement, I think," Hermione told her. "The thing is, I really don't feel it. I mean, I know I'm pregnant. I've felt the baby move. I saw how ill Professor Snape was, but the whole idea of being raped," and she blanched slightly as she said the word, "just doesn't feel real. I don't feel traumatized, and I'm getting really tired of being handled like I'm fragile. I'm not!"  
  
"Then why were you yelling at me?" Harry asked.  
  
"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted, smiling a bit. "I was just really mad at Severus, and wanted to take it out on someone."  
  
"Severus?" echoed Harry.  
  
"Well," she began defensively, "he did say I should use his first name. And considering junior here, I probably ought to get used to it. He's hardly going to disappear just because I shouted at him, worse luck." She patted her stomach, and Ginny enthusiastically exclaimed over the bulge evident under Hermione's cloak.  
  
"I know when I'm not wanted," Harry remarked dryly. "Besides, I'm supposed to be on the pitch by now." He gave Ginny a quick kiss and grabbed his broom and practice robes. "See you after practice?"  
  
"Of course," Ginny told him, but quickly turned back to Hermione. "All right," she ordered in a no nonsense voice, sounding a great deal like her mother. "Tell me all about it."  
  
*****  
  
Once Hermione made it back to her rooms, she was brought up short by the stack of packages waiting on her bed. Crookshanks was busy investigating them, rubbing his ginger chin on the corners of the boxes and batting at the ends of the twine wrapped around some of them.  
  
Hermione hung up her cloak and began to go through the purchases, each one making her feel a bit worse for being so harsh in her refusal of her first ever marriage proposal. The immediate counter-response was to become angry with herself for letting Severus Snape manipulate her, albeit unknowingly. With see-sawed emotions and unsettled mind, she hung up her new robes, folded her new underclothes, and set her new boots in her wardrobe. Her thrifty side prompted her to keep the boxes for later use, though for what, she couldn't say.  
  
Deciding a bath was the best way to sooth her jumpy nerves, Hermione flicked her wand at the bathtub and had it fill itself with warm, bubbly water. The ill-fitting robes she'd worn to Diagon Alley were tossed into the basket she kept behind the bathroom door for her laundry.  
  
The old, scratched looking glass on the back of the door caught her attention as it reflected back the blue of her discarded robes, and she walked slowly towards it. In the mirror her appearance was much the same as it always had been; loads of brown hair with honey-colored highlights, far too curly and usually unmanageable. Her summer tan had long ago faded and her face was the same oval, her eyes only a medium brown and unremarkable under dark brows.  
  
Below her collarbones, though, the inventory had changed completely. Her breasts had plumped up, pillowing over the top edge of her bra, and further down. the formerly flat plane of her stomach was rounded out now. She couldn't even suck in her stomach for more than a moment; the bulge had a presence of its own and refused to disappear. Her hand ran over the curve, feeling the tight skin and firm muscle underneath. A pale brown line started above her belly button and ran down to disappear under the panties that were stretched tight enough to pinch.  
  
Despite her refusal to Severus Snape, she could not repress the mental image of his hand on her stomach and wondered what he would think of it now, if he's show the same astonished wonder as before. The unbidden memory also reminded her of how she'd felt under his touch, and her nipples tightened as arousal washed through her once more.  
  
"Stop it," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. Determined to bring her wayward emotions under control, Hermione mechanically stripped of the rest of her clothes and stepped into the tub. She had the entire weekend to worry about Snape, but only an hour or more until dinner.  
  
*****  
  
Severus made sure he was seated at his worktable when Hermione came to the lab on Monday afternoon. He knew she'd be coming, since he knew perfectly well that Pomfrey was out of her Headache-Ease potion. Normally he abhorred waste, but he'd shown no remorse while pouring perfectly good potions down the drain.  
  
When she stepped into the laboratory after lunch, Hermione wasn't entirely sure how to react to Snape. He'd accepted her refusal and demand to be taken home with a curt nod, but she'd seen that angular jaw tense. He'd been terribly angry, but had done as she'd asked and taken them back to Hogwarts without another word. Accustomed as she was to her Gryffindor counterparts' explosive outbursts, she was unaccustomed to with the Slytherin approach to anger.  
  
Once she'd set up her workspace to make the potion Madame Pomfrey had run out of, Hermione began to gather her ingredients. At his worktable, Snape made his way methodically through a stack of papers without so much as glancing at her. She worked silently for some time, but he didn't speak a word to her. Apparently the Slytherin way of dealing with anger was the silent treatment. He was in full Potions Master dress this afternoon, including his black robes over his black frock coat, buttoned fully up under his neck and nearly concealing the black neck-cloth he wore instead of a tie.  
  
The jar of feverfew was nearly empty, and Hermione frowned. Snape had some duplicates of her supplies on his own shelves, but courtesy required she ask before borrowing.  
  
"May I use your feverfew, please?" she asked him, rigidly polite.  
  
Snape regarded her from under hooded eyes for several long moments, drawing out the silence, then reached a long arm to the cabinet nearest him and plucked off a glass jar. He handed it to her wordlessly and returned to his papers.  
  
The third time Hermione realized she was out of something, the suspicion that had been growing bloomed into certainty. She set the nearly empty jar of skullcap down with a thump and glared at Snape with narrowed eyes. The container has been full just a week ago, and she was sure the contents had been skimmed from her stores and somehow found their way into the canisters in his side of the lab.  
  
The ploy was deliberate and transparent and he must have known she'd see right through it. She wasn't sure if she should feel slighted or flattered. Whatever the man's intentions were, she decided to bring this issue to a head, and right now.  
  
"You asked me to marry you," Hermione stated baldly.  
  
"Not as boring as Binns' delivery, but just as much ancient history." Snape's voice was bland, even courteous for him as he continued working on his papers, but the deep thrum of his voice went through her, stirring her hormones and not checking in at the gate. It didn't help her temper much, either.  
  
"Does that mean your offer is no longer open?" she challenged.  
  
"Are you telling me you're reconsidering your answer?" he replied in the same bored tone.  
  
Hermione's chin came up. "Marriage isn't something I take lightly, Professor. You and I share a single nightmare that I don't even remember and the results thereof. You're twenty years older than I am, and other than potions and the fight against Voldemort, we haven't a single thing in common."  
  
"You forget our deep loathing of Neville Longbottom."  
  
"I don't loathe Neville. He simply irritates me to no end, but so do you when you bully him so," Hermione told him. "Lucius Malfoy and his snot of a son are the only people I truly loath."  
  
"That's a start, I suppose," He drawled. "And as I said before, we do work well together."  
  
Hermione came closer to his table, her hands clasped in front of her. It was a nervous gesture rather than deliberate, and she was likely unconscious of how her arms outlined the visible evidence of her pregnancy.  
  
"I won't deny that being married to a pureblood wizard could save me a lot of embarrassment, but I'm reluctant to trade one problem for a worse one."  
  
"I understand your reluctance, Miss Granger. Hermione," he corrected himself. "But surely you understand how difficult it will be for a single witch to raise an illegitimate child - especially if the circumstances become known."  
  
Strangely, she knew he wasn't threatening her with exposure, but trying to shield her from the harshness she'd already tasted. Hermione could hardly believe she had had the temerity to say these things aloud, but the deepest part of her continued to be aware of him, miss his conversation, and mourned the loss of the tentative friendship they'd developed.  
  
"It was my decision to have this baby, and I was prepared to go it alone. However. If you truly want me to marry you, you'll have to give me a better reason than you already have."  
  
Snape dropped his quill and looked at her sternly. "If you're expecting me to bring you flowers or chocolate hearts, you'll have a very long wait."  
  
"I've all the chocolate hearts I'll ever need," Hermione reminded him, thinking of the cabinet with the leftover medical chocolate. A small giggle tried to escape as she imagined Snape with a lute and a lopsided crown of laurels like the tipsy Renaissance lover in one of the portraits outside the Great Hall. "You should know me better than that.  
  
"I would like to find out if we might be even remotely compatible. I had originally hoped that we might become friends of a sort, especially as you said you wanted to be part of the baby's upbringing. I'd rather envisioned you popping round every other weekend like a favorite uncle."  
  
"Is that what you want?"  
  
Hermione's mouth went dry. He hadn't moved, but she was suddenly impacted by the image of Severus Snape's tall body, the stillness with which he held himself. His black hair framed his long face and intensified the darkness of his eyes as they held her captive like the proverbial snake with its prey. This man was dangerous, and brilliant, and she now realized was attractive in ways she'd never knew existed.  
  
"What do you want?" she countered, and saw a flicker in his obsidian eyes she couldn't interpret.  
  
"I want to make amends for the harm I've caused you. I want our child, OUR child," he emphasized," to live in decent surroundings without his mother worrying where she'll find the money to feed him his next meal. I want him to be safe, and happy, and I want his mother to be that as well."  
  
"Then I think we should continue as we were before," Hermione suggested, "and see how we get on. And after that." she could not think what would come after that.  
  
Snape rose from his seat and came around the table, his boots barely whispering on the stone floor. Her body reacted to his nearness, and she was hard pressed to control herself as he came close enough for her to put her hand on his black wool-covered chest. He gave her a short, courteous bow and the manners of another century reminding her once again that wizardly culture had only superficial resemblance to that she'd been raised in.  
  
"Very well, Miss Granger. Hermione. We shall see." 


	12. Chapter 12

March came in, cold and wet as a mannerless dog. On a calendar in her room, Hermione marked the number of weeks remaining before the Easter holidays, when she would board the Hogwarts express at the end of term and go home for a three week visit. She had yet to write to her parents about anything more serious than the school news and current house standings, and they had no idea yet about her secret. Somehow she thought they might notice if she continued to wear her baggy, concealing school robes during her visit home.  
  
In the meantime, a steady supply of Muggle newspapers began to appear on Madame Pomfrey's desk, delivered by a motley assortment of owls. She and Snape set up a system to sort through the various stories, and together they perused each article of death, destruction, or simply unexplained phenomena, separating the stories into three sections: Likely Related to Death Eater Activity, Remotely Possible, and Not Bloody Likely.  
  
Some of the headlines were enough to make Hermione burst out laughing on sight. Occasionally she had to explain the humor to Snape, but to her surprise the man had a remarkably broad understanding of Muggle culture. Before long they got in the habit of reading out the more ludicrous tidbits to each other and making the odd wild supposition as to why, for instance, a grown man would be found naked in a call box.  
  
The afternoons and occasional evenings Hermione spent in the company of Severus Snape remained slightly formal, but the undercurrent of expectation remained in both their thoughts. He continued to instruct her in the more advanced potions and involved her in the research projects he had set up in the laboratory, all the while continuing to address her by her first name. After some practice, Hermione managed to call him Severus every now and again without expecting him to take off house points.  
  
Their time together continued in the same fashion as they discussed Death Eater activity and the current state of denial that existed at the highest level of the Ministry of Magic. They compared the Daily Prophet with the various Muggle newspapers and found little difference in their journalistic style. The one thing Hermione had never expected, however, was for Severus Snape to develop a new obsession.  
  
"What is this?" he asked her one Thursday evening, when she had sought out the lab instead of the library for a quiet place to work on her assignments.  
  
Hermione glanced up at the grid of black and white squares. "That's a crossword," she told him. "It's a kind of puzzle." She pointed at the list of clues. "Solve these questions, and put the answers in the boxes. All the answers should fit together."  
  
Severus made a noncommittal 'hmm,' and began to read the numbered clues. A moment later he reached for his quill and began to fill in the first row. He made rapid progress, and when she checked his answers realized he had a firm grasp of Muggle literature. His recall of history seemed total, and of course his mastery of language and hard science was a given. However.  
  
"Why in the name of Merlin would I want to know who Princess Diana's butler was?" he asked in acid tones of disbelief. "The woman's dead, I believe, and her servants should be looking for employment, not showing up in the newspapers."  
  
Hermione explained the controversy surrounding the former butler, who may or may not have been a thief, and who may or may not have been privy to potentially embarrassing information he was willing to use as a bargaining chip.  
  
His upper lip curled as he listened. "Rather gives one a proper appreciation of house elves," he drawled. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him in mock-annoyance, knowing he was being deliberately provoking.  
  
"Do you want to know the answer or not?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Say please."  
  
He paused, weighing whether or not it was worth it. "Please," he said at length, with saccharine insincerity.  
  
She told him, and when he gave a small grunt she knew the letters had fit. She wondered if it were something she could put up with that at the breakfast table for the next few decades, and decided it could be worse. A daily, in depth, detailed examination of the latest Quidditch matches came to mind.  
  
Severus continued to be fascinated with the crossword puzzles, but it usually took their combined efforts to solve the entire thing. It was moments like this she found herself seriously considering his proposal, when the atmosphere between them was comfortable and the baby in her womb kicked and turned complacently.  
  
On the other hand, however, Hermione's logical mind told her that the thought of marriage solving all her problems was a soap bubble; pretty and just as insubstantial. Hermione didn't believe in soap bubbles. Her body, however, insisted there was a third hand to consider, when his deep voice caressed her nerves, stirring her in ways that she could not deny and making her conscious of his presence every moment they were in the same room. Like now, when her homework lay forgotten and she stood at his side, helping him decipher the more mundane aspects of Muggle culture and spending far too long just watching him.  
  
Leaning one elbow on the work table, quill in his ink-splotched fingers, he was the image of concentration. A faint crease appeared between his eyebrows, his eyes barely blinking as he pored over the text. The only movement he made was his bottom lip as it worried at a stray lock of hair. Separate from the rest, the tip curved to just touch the underside of his expressive mouth. His entire focus on the parchment before him, he blew at it without thinking, but the strand came back to rest in the same position.  
  
Hermione's lip itched in sympathy, and without thinking she reached out to move the strand away. Severus immediately flinched and reared away, a flat, wary expression on his face.  
  
"Sorry," she managed, confused at his reaction. She felt a bit foolish with her hand in mid-air and lowered it.  
  
"No harm done," he replied in a quiet voice and brushed the hair away himself. The wary expression faded as he returned to his reading, and Hermione continued to watch him. When, she wondered, was the last time anyone had raised a hand to Severus Snape and didn't intend him any harm? He was thirty-eight years old, and had been playing a deep, dangerous game for more than fifteen years.  
  
"Are you finding anything in today's mess?"  
  
"Unemployment is down; the PM and the minority whip are each clamoring to claim credit," he relayed in a dry tone.  
  
"Honestly. Between the Ministry of Magic and Her Majesty's most loyal supporters, it's a wonder the British Empire is still standing. Heaven only knows how bad it would be if they ever worked together."  
  
"They tried it once," Snape said absently.  
  
"No!" exclaimed Hermione. "You're joking!"  
  
"It was called the Dark Ages for a reason," he said dryly. "Followed quickly by the Spanish Inquisition and a flurry of Obliviates."  
  
"I didn't know that," she mused. "Professor Binns leaves a lot of information out of his classes."  
  
"Knowledge isn't everything, Hermione."  
  
"I thought knowledge was power," she replied cheekily, but it was a long moment before he spoke again.  
  
"I once thought that; but it's an illusion. Cognitio indifferns virtus mallus."  
  
"Learning is neither good nor evil," Hermione translated hesitantly.  
  
"Close enough. Put simply, knowledge is only knowledge. What matters is what you do with it." He paused, staring at his papers without actually seeing them. "I once thought I wanted power. Respect. Learning for the bright, clean perfection of it. You must know what I mean."  
  
"I do," Hermione admitted. "And I still want to learn. There's so much I want to know."  
  
"Knowledge in and of itself is merely a pursuit," he cautioned. "Not an end in itself."  
  
"Then what should be?" she asked. "What point is there in living if you don't learn things?"  
  
"Who says there is one?"  
  
Hermione gave him a long look, wondering if he were being defeatist or playing devil's advocate. The silence between them continued, and she realized he had no intention of supplying an answer. It was, she realized, one of those wisdom-forming questions everyone had to decide on their own, and each person's answer would be different.  
  
Severus raised one eyebrow as she stared at him with a pensive, intensely concentrated look, the same she fastened on a new potion recipe or transfiguration exercise.  
  
Hermione had often been warned she was too clever by half, her intellect leading her into situations where common sense should have warned her off. But she'd never been able to resist a challenging puzzle, and Severus Snape was the most challenging, puzzling man she'd ever met. His intellect and mastery of the magic she loved so much made him interesting in ways she couldn't define, while his sense of honor and discipline were rigid indications of a unique brand of courage she could easily identify with.  
  
With careful deliberation she raised her hand to his face. He reared back a bit, but held still as she tentatively touched his cheek, brushing away the strands of hair obscuring the side of his face. Her thumb came to rest on the high jut of his cheekbone while her fingers slid across his temple and into his hair. His hair turned out to be fine as a small child's, slippery with some treatment that felt silky to her fingertips.  
  
To her surprise his eyes closed slowly as he leaned into her caress. It occurred to her that, no matter that he hid it so deeply, this was a man starving for human contact, for a bare measure of compassion and caring, who no longer felt himself worthy of even the smallest physical touch.  
  
The heel of her hand skimmed over the fine edge of his jaw, and the vague prickle of his emerging beard registered beneath his smooth skin. His eyes opened again, dark and guarded despite his carefully blank face. Knowing she'd pushed her luck nearly as far as possible, she seized the last of her courage and brushed her fingertips along his lower lip before making a hasty retreat from the lab.  
  
*****  
  
The evening bells signaling the dinner hour were torturously long in coming as Severus waited for Madame Pomfrey to leave the Hospital Wing. He may have been exaggerating in comparing the mediwitch with an Azkaban guard, but not by much. She kept anyone in her domain on a watchful eye, and she highly disapproved of Severus' habit of escaping to the abandoned picture gallery when the confines of his rooms became just that - confining.  
  
Once the bells rang, though, his self-appointed keeper left for her meal and Severus immediately made for the abandoned stairs and headed up. His boots made little noise until he reached the gallery, where the cool dimness was usually soothing as he paced back and forth. His legendary insomnia had created a habit of nighttime wandering, much to the dismay of students out of bed at night. Now, however, he was confined to these unused portions of the castle and his temper had no outlet other than returning the glares of the portraits as he walked past them.  
  
The portraits, however, were uncharacteristically silent as he made his way from one end of the long room to the other, working off the energy and the serious case of nerves Hermione Granger had given him with one gentle touch.  
  
The girl had totally disordered his life. Perhaps that wasn't fair, yet he heartily wished he'd never been summoned to Malfoy's amusement. But if he had not been, Hermione would certainly now be dead. It was also highly likely that Harry Potter and his hot-tempered best friend would have gone after Malfoy with revenge in mind, and either been killed immediately or else handed over to Voldemort with the same result.  
  
Instead, she was carrying his child. The one time he'd felt the baby move had been the single most amazing thing he'd ever experienced. The sight of her slightly rounded form outlined by the shabby blue robes he'd taken her to replace had gone through him like a spear. Even now, knowing what was hidden under her cloak or school robes caused a streak of possessiveness to go through him.  
  
Only occasionally did he remember the figurative hair shirt he should be wearing, and lately he was forgetting it altogether. During their time working together in the lab and especially on the trip to Diagon Alley, he'd discovered Hermione Granger was decent company. She had neither complained nor pouted, even though he'd rushed her in and out of the shops in a manner most men would have difficulty getting away with. She'd taken it all in stride, however, and fussed only over the amount of money he was spending. And it was only when he'd seen her delight in the small adventure he offered that he realized Hermione Granger had the most charming smile he'd ever seen.  
  
When Hermione had fainted, he had been almost frantic, furious with himself. He knew, if she were to persist in her determination to go it alone, she would continue to neglect her own needs. She would of course take excellent care of the baby, while her reserves were strung thinner and thinner as she struggled to provide for the child while furthering her education. This was something he could, and would, prevent.  
  
Irritated with the fading light, even though the gallery was one of the last portions of the castle to lose the winter sun, he withdrew his wand and muttered, "Lumos." The candles in the encrusted holders sprang to life, and he was momentarily nonplussed to see the empty portrait on the wall next to him.  
  
Casting a glance around, he saw that nearly every portrait was vacant. At the far end of the gallery, a larger, newly placed painting caught his attention. In it, a badly rendered French café was crowded by the occupants of the portraits, tended to by a snooty French waiter who appeared nearly as bad-tempered as his customers.  
  
Approaching the crowded frame carefully, the occupants raised their cups of coffee or wine, or gave him a bare nod of acknowledgement.  
  
"What is the meaning of this?" Severus demanded in his best after-curfew voice.  
  
"And what business is it of yours?" sneered back a horse-faced gentleman in a Van Dyke collar. "If you think you're going to remove this café, you're greatly mistaken. The lot of us have had nothing more entertaining that each other to speak to for years, unless you count your own self, which I do not."  
  
"Where did it come from?" Severus pressed. "Who brought it here?" If someone were taking an interest in the gallery, it would no longer be his refuge from Madame Pomfrey's overbearing care.  
  
"The young lady who was here two weeks ago," supplied one of the other gentlemen, who looked to be half-way through a bottle of indifferent red wine. "She brought up this place, since the other portraits downstairs were no longer patronizing that Frog with the atrocious manners." The gentleman picked his nose carefully and wiped the result on the linen tablecloth. "Bloody Frenchmen, but what can you do?" he asked no one in particular.  
  
"The young lady," Severus deduced, "the one with all the hair?"  
  
"That's her," said a third gentleman wearing a gold monocle, who looked a bit younger than the others. "Wouldn't mind a portrait of her up here," he said with a leer.  
  
"She's not available."  
  
"Stands the wind in that quarter, eh?" said the first portrait character. "Should have known such a thoughtful gel had a beau. Yours, is she?"  
  
"I'm working on it," Severus said repressively.  
  
"Ooh, a seduction," said the one with the leer. "How's it coming, then?"  
  
"None of your bloody business," he informed him. Severus had actually considered and discarded the idea of attempting to seduce Hermione. While he was fairly certain she did not find him repulsive, he wasn't going to even consider the possibility of a true, physical marriage.  
  
"Really, Boris, bad form," tutted one of the older gentlemen. "She's a pleasant girl, and look how she's had our gallery smartened up. Took the house elves two days to do this." He gestured towards the gallery, and Severus turned to see the place had, indeed, been cleaned. The dust on the floor was gone, the marble squares mopped and the festoons of cobwebs removed.  
  
Instantly, he knew she hadn't done it entirely for the men in the portraits, but also for him. The place was his refuge, and she'd asked the elves to clean it for him, knowing his aversion to dust and clutter.  
  
"Aren't you a bit old for her?" questioned the one with the monocle.  
  
"Nonsense," protested the older one again. "He's in his prime. Besides, in my day, no man considered marriage until he had made his fortune. Simply wouldn't do for a young man to marry without being able to support a wife. Your finances in order, sir?" he questioned Severus.  
  
Incensed, Severus gave the man a glare and bid the group a terse good evening before turning on his heel. He wasn't about to discuss his finances or suitability for marriage with a ruddy group portrait.  
  
*****  
  
"Lumos." The candles in the branching holders sprang to life in obedience to Snape's deep voice, and Hermione tried not to flinch. The faint winter sunlight coming through the windows had died as she'd wrestled with her homework assignment, and the room had grown dark without her noticing.  
  
The worktable before her was littered with her notes from the last six History of Magic classes, but she was having difficulty wringing an essay from the dry facts Binns droned out day after day. For three hours she'd been combing her notes and her books, attempting to draft a paper of reasonable length and had an outline no longer than her hand to show for it. At the other table Severus was quickly absorbed in his own notes, and she was grateful the man wasn't inclined to talk to her today; she really didn't think she was up to any verbal fencing.  
  
The faint rattling of Severus' quill in his inkwell didn't register as Hermione re-read a passage for the third time. Rubbing her temples didn't help, and she heaved a bad-tempered sigh and applied herself once more to the printed page.  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
"What?" she mumbled, not looking up.  
  
"I asked if there were any more ink?" Severus repeated.  
  
"Madame Pomfrey's got some in her office, but you can't go out there just now. Slytherin pasted Hufflepuff in the Quidditch match today and their keeper's got quite a bump on his head. Madame Pomfrey is checking him over."  
  
"Ah. Poppy owes me some money, then," he said with a self-satisfied expression.  
  
"I've a spare pot in my bag," Hermione volunteered flatly, nodding at the rucksack sitting on the end of her table. She made no move to get it for him.  
  
Severus gave the bag a suspicious look, then opened it gingerly. Inside were several books, a sheaf of clean parchment, several wads of folded foolscap with various colored ink scrawls, a hairbrush, and a variety of other odds and ends of whose purpose he was not entirely sure. Digging through it all, he finally located a bottle of ink.  
  
He closed the bag with a sense of relief at having escaped unharmed, then frowned at the bulging bag in its entirety. The worn strap hung loosely over one side, and he picked it up, hefting it to gauge the weight  
  
"Good grief, Hermione! This bag must weigh a stone or more!"  
  
"Yes. So?" she groused.  
  
"You've already gained additional weight with the baby. It cannot be good for you to be carrying this around as well!"  
  
"Thank you so much for reminding me how fat I'm getting," she snapped.  
  
"I'm not worried about you being fat. I'm worried about your health!" he snapped back.  
  
"Please don't shout at me," she whispered. Suddenly miserable, Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and she controlled the quiver of her lower lip with difficulty. "I'm tired and my back hurts. I feel awful, and I'm sick to death of Malfoy and Binns and-and-and." She managed to shut off the stuttering babble that had erupted so unexpectedly and shut her eyes tight. ~Bloody hell - hormones! I thought PMS was bad,~ she though to herself as she buried her face in her arms and fought the sobs that wanted to escape.  
  
Hermione startled slightly as two hands gently settled on her shoulders, squeezing lightly and relaxing. His thumbs found a spot on her shoulder blades and dug in, eliciting a gasp of painful pleasure.  
  
I'm not surprised your back hurts," Severus replied with care. Years of watching teenage girls in the grips of their bodies' chemistry had taught him to recognize the signs, although he seldom had made any allowances. Hermione was a completely different case, however.  
  
"Relax," he told her, and truthfully she was helpless to do otherwise as his surprisingly strong hands began to seek out the knots and kinks in her shoulders. After far too brief an interval he stopped, but his lab stool squeaked on the floor as he swiftly placed it behind her and resumed his massage.  
  
"Take this off," he ordered, and Hermione shrugged off the voluminous school robes that shielded her abdomen from casual view. Underneath, she wore the black maternity robe he'd bought her in Diagon Alley, and the warmth of his hands soaked through the thin material. Once more he told her to relax, and she mindlessly complied, thinking that surely if there had even been a man with Siren in his blood somewhere, it was Severus Snape. His deep voice caressed her nerve endings just as his hands did, working their way down her spine in tandem.  
  
His palms spanned the small of her back, thumbs digging at the muscles and forcing inarticulate gasps from her on regular intervals. He paused slightly as he reached her waist.  
  
"Sciatica?" he questioned softly.  
  
When she nodded, his fingertips began to make firm circles on the flat of her backside, soothing the muscles over the sacrum and carefully avoiding the swell of her hips. Her back arched as the nerves fired off, but he never stopped the massage.  
  
"Lean back," he urged her. As her shoulders drifted back to lean against his chest, he inched forward to frame her hips with his thighs, then wondered if perhaps that were entirely a wise thing to do. The sound of her small whimpers and moans was doing extraordinary things to him, and her body was slumped back against him, bonelessly relaxed as only a badly needed and well done backrub could make a person.  
  
Hermione couldn't remember when she had closed her eyes, but her back was warm where it rested against his chest. His hands, which looked so unremarkable when still, were the hands of a sculptor as they worked her neck and shoulders, gripping her upper arms in rhythmic contractions to make the muscles release their tension. He found the tendon at the point of each elbow, digging in until her little fingers twitched. Her forearms, bare under his touch, were squeezed and stroked in turn as he progressed down her arms to her wrists and hands. His fingers eventually gripped her palms, rubbing each bone and knuckle, until Hermione thought she might just melt into a puddle on the floor.  
  
Her lax hands were left draped down her sides, and for a moment Hermione thought he would leave. This was proved false, though, when his hands settled at her waist, gently stroking her sides with light yet firm palm presses, easing the tightly drawn skin with the heat of his hands. Tiny, energetic kicks erupted as he made small circles over her stomach.  
  
"Can you feel that?" she murmured.  
  
"By that, I assume you're speaking of the baby. No, I can't." His hands stilled over her center, but although the small movements continued, he shook his head.  
  
Hermione thought of the sensitivity charm she'd cast on his hand once before, but in truth she was loathe to move in search of her wand. Her head had fallen back to rest on his shoulder, and the scent of his body surrounded her with the subtle scent of man combined with the faint spicy aroma of various potions ingredients. His arms held her in a safe, protected sanctuary, and a part of her wanted to remain in it forever.  
  
"You must take care of yourself," he said quietly. "Your health is the most important thing."  
  
Her throat hurt suddenly from a surge of unidentifiable anxieties. It wasn't the first time she'd been suddenly swamped by out of control emotions, but being held during the ambush made it both better and worse. Ironic that being held so securely in his arms would suddenly loose the fears she had thought were under control.  
  
"I'm afraid."  
  
"Of what?" His mouth grazed the curve of her ear as he spoke, and a shiver went through her.  
  
"Everything," she admitted, biting her lip. "Having a baby rather tops the list right now."  
  
"Don't be," he told her, his arms shifting until she was cradled in his arms. "I will do everything in my power to protect you."  
  
"Why should you care?"  
  
"I care because this mad situation is entirely my fault," he told her firmly. "I care, Hermione, that one of the finest minds in the history of Hogwarts will have to prostitute herself to survive a situation in which she had no making. I don't mean that literally, of course, just that you will no doubt be forced to compromise your amazing prospects. And I care desperately that the mother of my child will be forced to struggle when I can prevent it so easily."  
  
"And marrying you will fix all that?" she asked plaintively.  
  
"No magic wand waving here, Hermione." She could hear the smile in his voice.  
  
"I am considering it. I can't promise you any more than that."  
  
"Good," he murmured.  
  
Hermione adjusted herself slightly until every possible inch of her body was in contact with his. She felt safe and warm and cherished, and for one moment she wanted, more than anything, for him to kiss her. He made no move to do so, however, simply tightening his arms around her as they sat together, and only reluctantly removing themselves from each other when the dinner bells sounded the some time later.  
  
*****  
  
Two days later, Hermione was eating her breakfast in her usual place across the table from Ron and Harry. Next to her, Ginny was chattering about nothing in particular, while the boys discussed an upcoming class. Hermione had kept her opinions to herself, but the comments she thought of were on par with what Severus might have made. More and more the man dominated her thoughts and imagination.  
  
"Wow," exclaimed Ron, dragging Hermione's attention back to the present in time to see two owls carrying a large package in tandem. To her surprise, they swooped down and landed in front of her. One owl presented a leg with an attached tag, denoting a delivery to Hermione Granger. Quickly digging out a quill and ink, she signed the slip. The owl hooted at its companion and they both flapped off, leaving the twine-bound package before her.  
  
"Well, go on," Ginny urged her. "Open it!"  
  
Heavy white paper and twine were quickly torn off, leaving her with a black leather school bag. Understated but of exceptionally fine workmanship, it was large enough to hold all of her books and other school supplies. The flap closed with beautiful silver clasps, and between them was a set of silver initials in a graceful monogram. Her fingers lingered over the "H G" for a moment before Ginny dragged Hermione's old bag up and began to hand her the contents, one after another.  
  
Once all of her possessions were transferred to the new bag, Hermione closed it and patted it fondly. Not a snake in sight, but it was obvious who had sent it. It was a thoughtful gift, if not all that romantic, but then again they'd both agreed romantic gestures were not necessary. It wasn't until she went to move the bag to the floor that she discovered the secret.  
  
"What on earth?" she exclaimed when the bag moved with astonishing ease. With one hand, Hermione lifted the strap. The bag hung down, bulging with its load, but weighing no more while full than it had empty.  
  
"It's a self-levitating bag," she told her friends, amazed.  
  
Nearly anyone could cast a levitation charm; it was one of the first spells they'd ever been taught. However, the charm wore off quickly, especially with heavier loads. To make a permanently spelled bag, it had to be infused with the spell at every step of its manufacture, and was hideously expensive.  
  
"Hermione," called Harry, leaning towards her on one elbow. "This fell out of the wrapper." He held out a small item wrapped loosely in black cloth. He'd obviously opened it and looked at it already. Somewhat apprehensive, she opened the small square of fabric and found another monogram. This time, the silver letters formed an "H S."  
  
The cold metal warmed under her fingers, and Hermione rolled the little pin and considered the idea of being Hermione Snape. Though she hadn't seen him for two days, she could remember vividly the sensation of his chest behind her shoulders and the warm safety she'd felt while being held in his arms.  
  
Harry reached out across the table and gave her hand a squeeze, the look in his bright green eyes full of understanding and empathy.  
  
"What?" Ron interrupted. "So who's it from, anyway?"  
  
"It's a gift," Harry told him.  
  
"Well, I figured that out. From who?" he demanded.  
  
She could feel the blush rising in her cheeks, but her brain couldn't quite seem to dredge up an answer quick enough to forestall Ron's assumptions.  
  
"Don't tell me it's from a boyfriend. You've got a boyfriend? Ow!" he exclaimed as Harry smacked him in the back of the head.  
  
"I've got to go," Hermione told him, scrambling to her feet. She pulled the lovely, weightless bag across her front to hide any unintentional revelations and left the hall.  
  
"Git," he sister told him viciously as she rose to follow her friend.  
  
Ron looked at Harry, bewildered. "How come she didn't tell me?"  
  
"Because," Harry told him with exasperation, "you've been acting a complete arse for the last few months. She didn't want you to overreact. And it's not exactly like that, anyway."  
  
"Me?" Ron protested. "Overreact?"  
  
"You, you great prancing nit. I thought you were going to try to work things out with Hermione."  
  
"Well." Ron began. "I did try, but she's been avoiding me lately."  
  
"She's not avoiding you, Ron. She's got some things to deal with, and you're not helping."  
  
"Sorry." Ron slumped in his seat, listlessly picking at the remains of his breakfast. "I really miss her, you know?"  
  
"I know," Harry said sympathetically. He glanced around, then leaned slightly closer and dropped his voice so as not to be overheard. "Look, if I tell you something, will you shut up?"  
  
Ron nodded.  
  
"I used to have a crush on Hermione," Harry confessed.  
  
"You never! When?"  
  
"A couple of months after the two of you got together. It didn't last long, but while it did I had all sorts of stupid fantasies about impressing her and making her choose me over you. I got over it, though, because I realized something, Ron. I don't ever want to make Hermione choose."  
  
"Choose what?" Ron asked, clueless.  
  
"Look," Harry elaborated, "what if Hermione went out with someone you didn't like. Say, someone like Marcus Flint."  
  
Ron grimaced. "She'd never date someone with teeth that bad. Dentist parents, remember?"  
  
"I'm being serious here! Do you really want Hermione to have to choose between us and someone else? Whether you approve of who she's seeing or not, do you really want to take the chance of losing her forever?"  
  
"No," Ron replied, suddenly getting Harry's point. "No, I don't."  
  
"Remember that, then."  
  
Harry reached under the table and gathered his books, but Ron put a hand out to stop him. "Something is going on, isn't it? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"It's not my place. It's Hermione's, and she's not going to tell you if she thinks you're going to be a prat about it."  
  
"Okay," Ron muttered, not convinced, but grabbed his own books from the floor. "No more prat, then."  
  
"We'll see," Harry said repressively, shoving his glasses up. "Come on, we're going to be late to class."  
  
*****  
  
Severus peered out the windows of his laboratory and noted the last few students rushing to afternoon classes. Hermione was late, which was highly unusual. The sound of her breathless greeting to Madame Pomfrey, therefore, caused a sense of relief to go through him. His expression remained unchanged, however, as she entered the lab and muttered an apology for her tardiness.  
  
Hermione remained somewhat quiet as the afternoon wore on, and Severus' concern continued to grow. She was working on a compound of some sort, and after a while he drifted over to investigate. A pile of Irish moss and a carton of fresh sweet violets lay beside her pestle, along with some marigolds and chamomile. He watched as she added several dollops of glycerin and began to grind the whole mess together.  
  
"Allergic reaction?" he ventured.  
  
"No," she said. "My skin is itching like mad." The power of suggestion exerted itself and she stopped to scratch her expanding stomach.  
  
"I see," he commented, still wondering at her uncharacteristic lateness and lack of conversation. "Is something wrong?" he finally asked.  
  
"No, nothing," she answered, pounding away with her mortar.  
  
Severus' eyes narrowed; he was now sure something had happened. He put out a hand and stilled her energetic mixing.  
  
"Tell me," he coaxed.  
  
"Nothing's wrong. I'm happy as a lark," she insisted.  
  
"It's a little known fact that larks are pathologically depressed, with a high suicide rate," he drawled.  
  
Hermione looked up at him in disbelief. "Did you just make a joke?"  
  
His face remained bland, but she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "All right, you win." She thrust a hand into her pocket and shoved the letter she pulled out into his hands.  
  
"To Miss Hermione Granger, student of Hogwarts." Severus began, then read the rest in silence until he reached the end. "Yours, Steven G. Monahan, Dean of Students, Salem University, Massachusetts." He folded the letter and placed it on the table beside her work. "It appears to be a very generous offer."  
  
"It is," Hermione agreed, biting her lip. "But I'd be required to live in student housing the first year at least, and the scholarship won't cover all the books and cost of living both. Not to mention what I'd do with the baby."  
  
"How much more do you need?" Severus asked repressively.  
  
"It's no bloody good," Hermione burst out. "Just throw it away."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It's just not practical. Besides the financial bits, there's no way I'm leaving England while Voldemort's about. Not to mention the baby," she said in a hopeless voice. "How on earth am I going to afford to go to school and look after a baby, too?"  
  
Without thinking, Severus put his hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him. "How much do you need?"  
  
"I don't know. It doesn't matter, I'm not going." Hermione ruthlessly clamped down on the traitorous part on her that wanted him to solve all her problems. The grip on her chin loosened, and the stern expression on his face changed.  
  
"Marry me, Hermione. I will take care of you."  
  
"I'm not a stray pet, Severus."  
  
"Umm. I knew I was going to regret saying it like that." He sighed heavily and dropped his hand from her face. "I do not know how to say what I want without offending you."  
  
"You're not offending me," she told him. "And I do care what you want." A faint blush rose in her cheeks, and she picked up her tools again, avoiding his gaze. "Anyway, I would never go off to America without talking to you first. You deserve at least that much."  
  
"Do I?"  
  
"Of course you do," she told him. "I expect to be seeing a lot of you in the future."  
  
"I'm glad to hear it," he murmured, causing a reaction to run up her spine. She told her body to behave itself; surely he hadn't meant it to sound like THAT.  
  
"The offer of an apprenticeship is still open, Hermione," he continued. "If you find yourself unwilling to commit to university study, a formal apprenticeship with an acknowledged master carries the same and in some cases more weight as a university degree."  
  
"I'm considering that, too," she told him, concentrating on her work. She did not see the faint smile that appeared at her comment before he returned to his own tasks.  
  
*****  
  
A note delivered by Madame Pomfrey summoned Severus to the Headmaster's office the last week before the Easter holidays, and curfew that night found him once more casting a concealment charm and sneaking through the halls to the spiral staircase. Dumbledore gravely invited him to sit before the fireplace, where a bottle of fine brandy and two snifters were set out. Since a decanter of the Headmaster's brandy often lasted a decade or more, Severus settled into one of the overstuffed armchairs and gave his superior his full attention.  
  
"I understand from my sources," began Dumbledore," that Voldemort has heard of your appearance in Diagon Alley, and he's demanding to know where you are. Outside our gates, the rumors are flying fast and thick, both in the Ministry and in the ranks of your former compatriots. Lucius Malfoy is in a bit of a pinch from both, explaining away any rumors that he was responsible for your disappearance." Those same sources had whispered in more than one ear that Lucius had been responsible for just that.  
  
"Good," Severus replied with a thin, vicious smile at the thought of Malfoy answering for his ambition.  
  
"The result of this, however, is that you now have a price on your head. Malfoy is leaving no stone unturned in his search."  
  
"Is Hermione in danger?"  
  
"I daresay he's likely to be interested in her, if only to find out where you've gone. If it becomes an issue, I'll have her removed from the school."  
  
"You'll have a hard time convincing her to leave her schoolwork. Or Potter," he added as an afterthought, for once not sneering at the boy's name.  
  
"She is an eminently sensible young woman," Dumbledore told him. "If nothing else, the Shrieking Shack could be made a livable refuge. Perhaps with a personal tutor to continue her schooling, she would be persuaded to be reasonable."  
  
Severus wasn't sure he'd heard the Headmaster clearly, and on reflection decided the comment on a 'personal tutor' surely couldn't have been a double entendre.  
  
"I'm not worried about Miss Granger's safety at this moment, however. So far, Hogwarts remains inviolate, despite young Mr. Malfoy's creeping about." The old wizard leaned forward and poured himself a glass of the dark amber brandy. "Something else, though, has changed things. Parvati Patel made a prophecy the other day."  
  
"Merlin spare us," Severus bit out.  
  
"The girl has the gift, Severus. I've had her assessed more than once. She passed me in the hallway on Monday and suddenly dropped all her things; I thought she was having an epileptic fit before she began to prophesy."  
  
Severus took a hefty swig of his brandy and settled into his chair. "Well. Let me hear it," he said.  
  
The Headmaster didn't answer immediately. Instead he leaned forward and poured himself a hefty splash of brandy before leaning back into his chair. His gaze slid to his familiar, who sat preening his red and gold plumage, showering sparks on the carpet. Fawkes looked up at his master, and wizard and bird seemed to nod at each other. He took a breath and began.  
  
"On the day the Dark Lord betrays his most loyal servant, the era of the phoenix shall end. His feathers will burn without rebirth. The sword of Gryffindor will break. The blood of Harry Potter will pour out on the earth, And the Eaters of Death shall fall upon the world."  
  
Severus opened his mouth in a silent gasp, but words were beyond him; even breathing seemed beyond him.  
  
"I am the phoenix, presumably." Dumbledore continued evenly.  
  
Severus forced a single word out. "When?"  
  
"Soon. By the end of this year, certainly, but more than likely it will be before the school year starts up in September."  
  
"Fuck," Severus said succinctly. "I can't stay in hiding any longer, Albus. There's too many other things I could be doing for the Order."  
  
Dumbledore smile fondly, if a bit sadly. "I admit I was going to broach this subject, but I know you've had other things on your mind." Snape felt a faint chagrin that Dumbledore knew how little progress he was making in convincing Hermione Granger to marry him.  
  
Dumbledore reached into his pocket and began rummaging through the contents. "Aha," he declared in quiet triumph. "I have something for you, Severus. My legacy to you."  
  
On reflex, Severus held out his hand and accepted the offering, then looked at it in disbelief. "It's a nail."  
  
"A horseshoe nail," Dumbledore corrected cheerfully. "It's from a Muggle rhyme. 'For want of a nail, the shoe was lost, for want of a shoe, the horse was lost."  
  
"And then the rider, the message, the war, yes, yes, I'm familiar with it. What about it?"  
  
"I used to carry it in my pocket for good luck when I began this mad task of opposing Voldemort. You'll find it can be very useful," he assured Severus, noting the man's skeptical expression. "It gives you something to fiddle with, when you're thinking, and does a fine job of cleaning from under your fingernails. George Weasley even showed me how to pick a lock with it one day. Or was it Fred?" he mused, then shrugged. "No matter."  
  
The Headmaster looked over his glasses at his old friend. "Keep it, Severus. Remember that the little things sometimes are as important, if not more so, than the big things. You'll never know on what detail your fate will hinge, but you'll find that if you give some care to the small problems, the larger issues will be much easier than you thought."  
  
*****  
  
The last Friday before the Easter break came far too quickly for Hermione's comfort. The other students were all buzzing about with last minute business before they left for Easter holidays, and it was with a sense of relief that Hermione made her way to the small laboratory and the island of calm purpose it represented. However, when she entered the small lab to finish up the last-minute potions for Madame Pomfrey, she was shocked to see the works that had been in progress on Snape's worktable were all cleared away. Nothing steamed or stewed in any of the small cauldrons. They'd all been emptied, scoured, and stacked neatly on the shelves.  
  
"Ah," came the familiar deep voice from behind her, and she whirled to see Snape standing just inside the illusion wall. "I had hoped to see you before you left."  
  
"What's going on?" Hermione asked, bewildered. "All your experiments - your research.it's ruined!"  
  
"Really, Hermione," he reproved her gently. "You know as well as I do all this was little more than an exercise in thumb twiddling. It kept me out from under Albus' feet while I remained in hiding."  
  
She stared at him, not wanting to believe what she knew to be true. "You're leaving, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes. There are other activities that require my unique talents, and it's time I was about them."  
  
The irony in his voice warned her. Spying, you mean."  
  
"Some, yes. Preparations to be made, and other things I cannot go into just now."  
  
A sudden constriction in her throat made her voice sound odd to her own ears. "When? When are you going?"  
  
"Soon. A week or more from now, no more than two weeks. I'll be gone before you return from your holidays." His voice sounded equally odd, and his long fingers toyed idly with the small vials on the worktable. "Speaking of which, have you decided what - or how much - to tell your parents?"  
  
Numbly, Hermione reached into her lovely new bag and pulled out a handful of parchment scraps. Each one had several lines of handwriting and was liberally sprinkled with splotches and cross-outs. "Not exactly. Right now I'm leaning more towards the 'guess what' approach when I get home and take off my coat."  
  
Severus blinked at her. "I've not heard such an ill-conceived plan since Ethelred the Unready said 'At 'em, men. They're just goblins.'"  
  
Hermione smiled wanly at his comment. It seemed a very long time since she hadn't been able to discern the difference between sarcasm and his unique brand of dry humor.  
  
"Will you be careful?" she asked, blaming hormones for the thickening sensation in her throat.  
  
"I will try to be careful," he said evenly.  
  
"That's not good enough," Hermione told him, fighting the tears. "I want you to promise me you'll be careful. I want you to promise me you'll come back." She might have demanded more, but somehow she was in his arms, her face muffled against his shoulder as he held her close. His large, warm hands rubbed her back soothingly, and his nearness overwhelmed her senses. The lean, solid body accommodating her own curves, the deep thrum of his voice caressing her bones as he murmured her name.  
  
Only the faintest pressure of his palm under her chin brought her mouth up to meet his in a sweet, lingering kiss, more intense than any of the brief touches they'd shared.  
  
"Promise me that you'll do your best to come back," she whispered, her lips brushing his.  
  
"Then give me something to come back to," he demanded softly.  
  
Her breath caught with a hitch. Hermione knew it was blackmail, knew he was taking advantage of the moment in true Slytherin fashion. At that exact moment, she didn't care.  
  
With a sigh she leaned into his chest, closing her eyes and savoring the warm male scent of him that reminded her of the storeroom with all the inherit possibilities. "All right," she told him. "Yes."  
  
"Yes?" he repeated questioningly.  
  
"Yes, I'll marry you," she clarified, and the sudden, joyful tightening of his arms around her made her smile. She wasn't sure she was making the best decision, but that it should bring him any happiness made it seem right.  
  
"When? The sooner the better."  
  
"How soon can it be arranged?" Hermione tried to remember if wizards observed the old practice of publishing banns before a wedding. She knew better than to hope it would delay his departure, but she'd rather marry him now rather than wait any longer.  
  
"It can be done tonight if we hurried, or perhaps tomorrow would be better. I'll tell Dumbledore. He's a Grand Sorcerer, he can perform the handfasting." Severus pulled back and cupped her face with his hand, absently smoothing a stray strand of hair from her face. "We'll need a ring and two witnesses. Tradition is that they be a man and a woman; I'll ask Remus if he would stand with me. You may ask whoever you wish."  
  
"Would Ginny Weasley be all right?" she asked tentatively. "She knows about the baby already. I've been thinking. it's getting harder to hide," she said, putting her hand over her rising belly. "I thought I might make both public knowledge at once."  
  
A hint of a smile ghosted over his lips. "So you're marrying me just so you don't have to come up with a convincing lie?"  
  
"You know I don't lie worth anything."  
  
"Yes, I know. Perhaps you can be taught." His mouth relaxed into a more serious expression, and he took both her hands in his. "I cannot say I love you, Hermione. I care for you greatly, but I've said those words before and never meant them, and I won't insult you like that."  
  
"I understand," she said slowly, concentrating on the long, strong hands that held hers. "It's a start, I suppose, and I can honestly say I'd rather be with you than alone."  
  
"I think I'll take that as a compliment," he said dryly.  
  
With great deliberation, Severus brought her hands to his mouth and kissed each one, his lips warm and soft on the backs of her fingers before leaning forward and kissing her gently on the forehead.  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's note: Just in case there's somebody out there that's never heard it -  
  
For want of a nail, the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe, the horse was lost. For want of a horse, the rider was lost. For want of a rider, the message was lost. For want of the message, the battle was lost. For want of the battle, the war was lost. All for the want of a nail. 


	13. Chapter 13

In something of a daze, Hermione left the Hospital Wing and drifted back towards Gryffindor tower. She'd said yes. She was actually going to marry Severus Snape. The Fat Lady opened for her, though she could not honestly remember saying the password. Inside the Common Room, various students just returned from afternoon classes sprawled on the furniture, talking about their holiday plans and complaining about their homework.  
  
Harry noticed the shell-shocked expression on Hermione's face the moment she came into the room and immediately left the Quidditch discussion he'd been having with his fifth-year Chaser and came to her side.  
  
"Are you all right? What's wrong?"  
  
"I need to talk to you," she murmured, feeling somewhat sick to her stomach.  
  
With a quick glance around the room, Harry put an arm around her shoulders and steered her towards the stairs and up towards his dorm, hoping no self- appointed wit would decide to question why the Head Girl was going up the boy's side of the staircase. Fortunately his dorm was empty, and he quickly shut and locked the door.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I said yes," Hermione blurted out.  
  
Harry blinked and pushed up his glasses. "About what?"  
  
"About getting married. I said yes. I'm going to marry Severus Snape."  
  
"Oh," he replied, when he managed to close his mouth.  
  
"Is that all you can say?" she snapped. "Harry, I'm going to get married. Say something!"  
  
"Sorry, it's just the shock," he said, scruffing his fingers through his hair. "That and getting smacked in the face with my own advice."  
  
"You're not going to try and talk me out of it, are you? It was your idea to begin with."  
  
"Do you want me to?"  
  
"Yes. No. I'm not sure." Hermione crossed her arms and began to pace back and forth.  
  
Harry's eyebrows went up and down as her posture caused the baggy school robes to outline her rounded form. "Wow," he murmured. "You really are pregnant."  
  
That remark earned him a withering look of disdain, interrupted by a pounding on the door. "Oi! Who locked the ruddy door! Alohomora!"  
  
Ron's scowling face poked in the room. "Harry, if you're in here shagging my sister, you're dead."  
  
"I'm not shagging your sister!" an exasperated Harry shouted. "Why does everyone think I'm shagging Ginny?"  
  
"Well if you're not, you're doing something wrong," Ron replied in typical Weasley logic. He stopped short when he saw Hermione. "All right then, Hermione?"  
  
"Not really," she told him. "Ron, we need to talk."  
  
"Amazing. I've been trying to talk to you for weeks, and now you decide it's time." The redhead flung himself on his bed and shoved his pillow under his arm. "All right then. Talk."  
  
"Just a warning," Harry began. "You're not going to like it, so watch your temper."  
  
Ron stared at Harry blankly, as if to say 'what temper?'  
  
Sinking down on the bed beside Harry, Hermione twisted her robe's edge in her fingers and wondered how to begin. Harry reached out and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and the warm strength reassured her enough to open her mouth and start talking.  
  
Through it all, Ron's ocean-blue gaze never wavered, although Hermione had to glance away several times. When she finished, including her plan to marry Severus Snape the next day, she fell silent.  
  
Ron had slowly sat back up during the tale, and now he stood. With abrupt savagery he turned and kicked the already-battered trunk at the foot of his bed, sending chess pieces flying from the board set up on its top surface. Hermione flinched, and Harry sprang to his feet. For several long moments, no one said anything.  
  
"I can't believe you didn't tell me this, Hermione!" Ron's voice was deadly quiet, his fists clenched at his sides. "I can't believe you kept it a secret from me."  
  
"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be upset!" Hermione blurted out.  
  
"UPSET!" Ron shouted. "OF COURSE I'm bloody upset! You sit there and tell me you're going to marry Professor sodding SNAPE! That you're going to have his baby? How could you not let me know this happened?"  
  
"I didn't know myself until I found out I was pregnant! Dumbledore put a spell on me to make me forget."  
  
"And that's another thing! What's Dumbledore think he's doing, going around throwing out Obliviates like that?"  
  
"It wasn't an Obliviate," Harry objected.  
  
"Shut it!" Ron told him. "He had no right!"  
  
"Ron," pleaded Hermione. "Please don't hate me."  
  
He stared at her. "Hate you? Hermione," he protested, "you're my best friend. We're supposed to trust each other, no matter what." His eyes slid from hers as he realized the hypocrisy of his words, and he folded his arms across his chest as several long moments passed.  
  
Eventually Ron dragged himself to her side and sat down reluctantly on the end of the bed. "I always knew we wouldn't last," he told her, his voice gone gravelly. "I really was in love with you. I just didn't want to admit we weren't perfect together."  
  
"I never wanted to hurt you, Ron," Hermione croaked out. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"Don't be. I'm sorry I've been such a prat." His head drooped down as he sighed. "I just want my best friend back."  
  
"I'm right here," Harry objected.  
  
Ron grinned at him momentarily over Hermione's head, but he reached out a tentative hand and put it on her arm. "Anything you need from me, Hermione. I mean it."  
  
On the other side of her, Harry joined them and put his arm around her as well. "Me, too. You know that."  
  
"I know," Hermione said with a sniff as her tears finally spilled out. "Oh, honestly! Look at us!"  
  
"Yeah," warned Harry. "If Dean sees us like this, he'll never let us live it down."  
  
"Dean can sod off," Ron declared, giving Hermione a hug. The three of them squished together, silly grins percolating from the tears.  
  
"So you're really going to marry that git?" Ron said suddenly. "Weird. Better you than me, I suppose."  
  
"You aren't his type," Hermione managed with damp dignity. "And he's really not that bad."  
  
"Well, I always knew Snape had a lot of brass to spy on Voldemort," Harry told her. "But marrying you? He's a braver man than I am."  
  
Hermione's elbow contacted Harry's rib at approximately the same time Ron smacked him on the back of the head, and they all three burst into laughter.  
  
*****  
  
Feeling as though the world had been lifted off her shoulders, Hermione bid the Fat Lady good afternoon and turned towards her own rooms, only to meet Professor McGonagall. The stern witch had an odd expression on her face.  
  
"If I might have a word with you, my dear?"  
  
"Of course," Hermione responded. To her surprise, the deputy headmistress took Hermione's arm and strolled with her down the stone hallway.  
  
"I've just had a rather shocking conversation with the Headmaster, Miss Granger."  
  
"Yes," Hermione managed in a somewhat strangled voice.  
  
"He tells me you're going to be married tomorrow." Minerva McGonagall patted Hermione's captive hand. "Now, I've known Albus for many years, and he's not above pulling the wool over my eyes now and then with a tall tale."  
  
"It's true," Hermione supplied in a rush. "I'm sorry I never told you, Professor."  
  
"Oh, my dear girl," Minerva said with feeling. "Don't be sorry. I can only imagine how difficult things must have been for you. I'm not entirely sure I agree with you marrying Severus, but I can't think of any better alternative."  
  
"I can't say I'm entirely enthusiastic about it, myself," Hermione confessed, "but I do think it's the right thing to do."  
  
"No, you're never entirely sure," Minerva said with a reminiscent smile. "I remember the lad I was to marry. Perfectly mad for him, I was, but every now and then I couldn't help wondering if I were making the right decision."  
  
Hermione couldn't help asking. "What happened?"  
  
"The war happened, my dear. The Great War, they called it, before we had another just like it. His name was William, and he died at Galipoli."  
  
"Galipoli?" She'd never heard of wizards dying in Muggle battles. "Wasn't he a wizard?"  
  
"No, he was a Muggle," confirmed Minerva. "And when he died, well, I just never found anyone else. Hogwarts has been my life ever since. But we're discussing your wedding, not mine, and I have a gift for you."  
  
"Oh, that's not necessary," she protested, only to be shushed by her Head of House.  
  
"Nonsense. I'll have the house-elves deliver it to your room this evening." She paused there in the hallway, looking at her, then reached out and fondly patted Hermione's face. "It always comes as a bit of a surprise when my Gryffindors grow up. It seems as though you were only Sorted yesterday, and here you are, getting married."  
  
Minerva sniffed quickly but smiled. "I don't deny that I hope you'll return here to teach someday, but I do hope you make a grand life for yourself outside these walls before then. Even if you are marrying a Slytherin." Her mouth twitched, and if Hermione hadn't suspected the enmity between the Heads was exaggerated before, she did now.  
  
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione told her, and surprised them both by leaning forward and giving the older witch a quick kiss on the cheek. "It means a lot to me to have your approval."  
  
"Oh, go on with you," Minerva told her. "You've much to do, and I shouldn't keep you."  
  
"I do need to find Ginny Weasley."  
  
"Try the dining hall, and then perhaps Harry Potter's dorm," Minerva suggested with some asperity. "The girl's as bad as her mother ever was."  
  
*****  
  
A quiet but insistent knocking on her door woke Hermione at an obscenely early hour the next morning. She dispelled the security ward with a grumble and collapsed back into her pillows, vowing to cause bodily harm to her bridesmaid. As soon as she woke up.  
  
"Wake up, wake up!" Ginny caroled, ignoring a sleepy glare from both Hermione and Crookshanks. "It's your wedding day!"  
  
"It's not even day yet," Hermione protested, looking out at the gray sky outside her window.  
  
"Nonsense. It's just overcast. We need to get you ready," Ginny declared, putting down an armload of various things.  
  
Hermione regarded the pile with some suspicion. "What is all that?"  
  
"Oh, some flowers I begged off Professor Sprout, a cloak I've borrowed from one of my dorm mates, a dress for me. Which reminds me - do you know what you're going to wear? It doesn't have to be white, not for a Handfasting."  
  
Yawning, Hermione nodded towards her wardrobe. "Professor McGonagall sent me something. I think it's the one she bought for her own wedding, and it's lovely, but not quite what I had in mind."  
  
Ginny opened the door and let out a gasp. "It's a chiton," she breathed. Draped from a padded hanger was a white gown. The under layer was a heavy white silk sheath, while the overdress was a dreamy layer of sheer white silken gauze, heavily embroidered with flowers and leaves.  
  
"It's a tube," Hermione told her. "I tried it on - took me ages to figure out how to fasten the shoulder brooches."  
  
"Does it fit?" Ginny asked as she examined the gown, all business once again.  
  
"Just. It bunches ever so slightly around the middle."  
  
"Well, we can probably let it out a bit if necessary, it's got nice wide seam allowances," Ginny told her. If she'd learned nothing else living in a large family, it was how to adjust clothing to make them do for another person. "I can't believe how beautiful this is, Hermione. A lot of witches don't bother with these anymore, they're just too costly, but chitons are very traditional dresses for Handfastings. They go back centuries."  
  
"Well, they would, wouldn't they?" Hermione pointed out, propping herself up on the bed.  
  
Ginny just shook her head. "The thing is, you don't wear anything but the dress to a Handfasting. No knickers, nothing."  
  
"Bare?" Hermione asked in disbelief. She'd bought some new panties at the lingerie store, and while she had to confess they were more comfortable, as they were designed to go over a full term belly, they were absolutely enormous and hardly what she'd wear under a wedding dress. Still, she wasn't sure she was ready to go commando.  
  
"Well, nowadays the joke is that it's so you can get to the afters quicker, but really it's about being one with the earth, fertility and all that. And you don't wear shoes, either."  
  
"Well, we hardly need worry about the fertility part, do we?" she said dryly, running a hand over the bulge.  
  
Under Ginny's prodding and over her own objections, Hermione was put in a bathtub and had her hair washed for her. "It's traditional," she was told, though she wondered how much was really tradition and how much was Ginny channeling her mother. Once out, she was dried, lotioned, wrapped in her bathrobe and her hair combed out with some goo produced from the flotsam her friend had brought in with her.  
  
Sitting on her bed, Hermione petted Crookshanks while Ginny knelt on the covers behind her, armed with a brush and a box of hairpins. In between demands for the other comb and another pin, Ginny chattered and answered Hermione's questions about the upcoming ceremony.  
  
"So, it's perfectly legal for Dumbledore to perform the ceremony?"  
  
"Oh, absolutely. He's a Grand Sorcerer. Any member of the Sorcerer's Guild is legal, and the Headmaster's quite a bit higher than that. All he has to do is put it down on a parchment. Someone will have to send it to the Ministry, so it's registered and all, but that's how it's done. Comb," she commanded, holding out her hand.  
  
Hermione handed it back, wincing as another lock of hair was pulled. "And what if we decide we hate each other? Is there a way to, well, divorce him? Am I allowed?"  
  
"My, aren't you romantic, talking divorce on your wedding day."  
  
"I'm just being practical," Hermione defended herself, not needing her friend's comments to add to the awful sensation that had just crept into her stomach.  
  
"Yes," Ginny answered. "You keep the ribbon from the ceremony, and if you want him to push off, you give him the chopped-up ribbon and send off one piece of it to the Ministry, so they can attach it to your divorce decree. Actually, any old ribbon will do, I think."  
  
A light tapping came at Hermione's door, and the young women looked at each other.  
  
"Bugger," swore Ginny, dropping the strands of hair to dangle around Hermione's face as she went to open the door.  
  
A deep voice on the other side of the door, quietly asking to see her, told Hermione who it was. Pulling her bathrobe more tightly around herself, she went to stand beside Ginny, who discreetly withdrew.  
  
"Good morning," Severus told her.  
  
"Good morning," she replied, somewhat shyly. "Is anything wrong?"  
  
"Everything's fine. I simply wanted to get your approval on something."  
  
In his hand was a black velvet box, obviously from a wizard jeweler. On the lid, small bits of gold joined up to form the words 'Will you marry me?' before dissolving into a cascade of celebratory fireworks. All in all, very optimistic box.  
  
Hermione made no move to take it. "If that's got a silver and emerald ring in it, you can jolly well hang it in your nose," she warned him.  
  
A faint smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "Platinum only comes in one color, Hermione. And since I refuse to give my bride rubies, I compromised and chose a sapphire."  
  
Severus opened the box for her as he spoke, and Hermione swallowed when she saw the ring. The central stone was the size of her little fingernail and a deep, fiery blue, flanked by triangular diamonds only a bit smaller. Without asking permission, he reached down and captured her left hand, plucked the ring from its home in the black velvet and slid it onto her ring finger. It tingled for a moment, then contracted to fit perfectly.  
  
"Can you afford this?" she blurted out. He laughed, low and intimate, his fingers toying with the stones on the ring.  
  
"Don't worry," Severus told her. "I've a little laid by." With the faintest tug on her captive hand, he pulled her close enough to lean down and brush a swift kiss across her lips. "I'll see you soon." Hermione barely felt the ring slide off her finger as he reclaimed it and put it back in the box.  
  
Somewhat dazed, she closed the door behind his retreating back and leaned against it. When she looked up, it was to see a speculative look on Ginny's face.  
  
"You know, it's odd," her friend said. "Snape looks a bit like Victor Krum."  
  
"Oh, really now!" Hermione objected, collecting her scattered wits.  
  
"No, really! Victor was tall, and had dark hair, and he had a big nose," Ginny pointed out.  
  
"Victor Krum walked like a duck," Hermione retorted, thinking of Severus Snape's stealthy, silent stride. "Not to mention he couldn't brew a potion to save his life! All he ever wanted was to play Quidditch and design brooms. You know, I broke up with him when he kept asking me about charms to make his broom go faster!"  
  
"I thought you broke up with him because you were crushing on my idiot brother."  
  
"Well, that too," Hermione admitted, allowing Ginny to push her back down and submitting to the continuing hair torture.  
  
"I love my brother, Hermione, but he honestly needs to grow up a bit before he gets serious with a girl. He's older than Harry, but Harry's ten times more mature."  
  
"Someone's been trying to kill Harry since he was a baby. That tends to cause one to focus."  
  
A mumbled something that sounded like irritated agreement came from around a mouthful of hairpins.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" Hermione ventured. Another affirmative sound told her to go ahead. "When did you know you were in love with Harry?"  
  
Ginny removed the hairpins from her mouth, causing Hermione to devoutly hope she wouldn't end up with spit-covered pins in her hair. "Do you mean before or after I spent years making a complete idiot of myself?"  
  
"After the idiot part."  
  
"Well." Ginny paused, thinking. "I think it was last summer at the Burrow. Harry and Ron were scrimmaging with the twins in the back paddock, and when they were done he came down and sat with me."  
  
She gave a wry smile, which brought a mischievous twinkle to her brown eyes. "Mind you, I'd have rather he sat downwind, but it was really nice. We were just talking, you know? And for a while there, the rest of the world was just gone. He was everything to me." A blush rose on her cheeks, but she continued. "And even now, whenever he comes close to me, it's as though every inch of my skin is aware of him."  
  
Hermione could only hope that her own cheeks weren't reddening as she remembered how her body reacted in proximity to Snape's. Preoccupied, she didn't notice Ginny frowning.  
  
"Hermione," she asked hesitantly, "why are you marrying Snape?"  
  
"Because I'm going to have his baby."  
  
"That's not an answer." Ginny fiddled with another lock of hair. "Do you like him?"  
  
"Yes. Yes, I do. He's very. interesting," Hermione said. "And I - I'm attracted to him," she confessed.  
  
"Thought so," Ginny said smugly. "All right, I've done my worst. Let's get the dress."  
  
"Wouldn't it have been easier to put on the dress and then do my hair?" complained Hermione several minutes later, from somewhere under several yards of silk. Her hand emerged from the folds of fabric, only to be pushed back in by Ginny.  
  
"No, because you'd have gotten the dress all wrinkled from sitting on it." Ginny maneuvered the neck opening to find Hermione's head.  
  
"That's what anti-wrinkle charms are for," came the muffled reply. At last Hermione's limbs came out the proper aperture, and Ginny carefully guided the shoulder brooches and neckline of the gown over the hairstyle on which she'd just spent a painstaking hour or more. The long, curly mass had been tamed by the dressing Ginny had combed through it, and now hung in shiny corkscrew tendrils down her back. A portion had been gathered at the temples and woven into a braided coronet, leaving only a few strands to drape gracefully across her cheek.  
  
Hermione blew at one irritably and glared at her friend. "Are you sure I can't wear anything under here? It's going to be a bit chilly, you know, and I don't fancy everyone knowing just how cold I am." A chin jerk in the direction of her cleavage left Ginny with no doubts as to what her objection was.  
  
"Don't worry, the embroidery will cover anything," Ginny replied impishly. "Besides, do you really want to wear this," and she grabbed Hermione's rather plain undergarments off the bed, "under that gorgeous dress?"  
  
"No, I suppose not. They're not very attractive, are they?"  
  
Ginny held up the brassiere and shrugged, but when the panties separated, her eyebrows rose to new heights. "Good heavens, Hermione. I've seen smaller market bags. These are enormous!"  
  
"They're supposed to be," Hermione replied tartly. "They're made to go over a full term pregnancy, and they stretch like mad. The first time I put one on, I could tuck the waistband under my bra."  
  
Ginny giggled, and Hermione managed a rueful smile. "They are awful, aren't they? Oh, Ginny," she said emotionally, "I can't tell you how glad I am you're doing this for me."  
  
Recognizing a galloping case of nerves, Ginny dropped the ridiculous under- things and gave her best friend a warm hug. "I'm glad you asked, Herm. I know you'll do the same for me, some day."  
  
"All right, enough of this," Ginny told her firmly, as though she weren't sniffling as well. "Time for flowers."  
  
"Oh, I hadn't really planned on carrying a bouquet," Hermione objected as Ginny unearthed the carton of flowers.  
  
"It's not for a bouquet, it's for your hair. Handfastings don't have to have a bouquet, but you can't get married without flowers in your hair."  
  
"It's tradition," Hermione echoed with Ginny as the younger woman began snipping the stems with small flicks of her wand, the colored bursts of light reflecting off the white flowers.  
  
"Speaking of tradition, who's Professor Snape going to have stand with him? It's supposed to be someone your own age, who's a friend or something like. Hold still!" she ordered as she began threading the flowers into the hair arrangement.  
  
"Remus Lupin," Hermione supplied. "Who did you expect, Professor Flitwick?"  
  
"I guess Sirius Black was out of the question," Ginny quipped.  
  
"No," laughed Hermione. "Severus said he'd ask Harry to do it before he'd have Sirius Black."  
  
Finished, Ginny stood back and examined the results. "Perfect. Now, you're already packed, right?" At Hermione's assurance that she was, Ginny tidied up the mess with several swift twists of her wand. "Then there's only one thing left to do."  
  
The redheaded girl pulled out the chair at Hermione's study table. "Sit," she commanded. "Quill and ink. Write to your parents and tell them you're not going to be on the train this afternoon. Harry will be bringing Hedwig down here soon, and you're going to have a letter to send off by the time I've finished changing."  
  
"Oh, Ginny. What on earth am I going to say to them?"  
  
"Don't know, but you'd better have it down by the time I've finished my hair, or I'll do it for you."  
  
"You wouldn't!" A look at Ginny's firm expression told Hermione she most certainly would. "Bossy cow," Hermione muttered as she found a spare quill.  
  
"My best friend showed me how," Ginny sang out as she disappeared into the bath with her dress.  
  
Faced with the threat of her friend's blunt deadline, Hermione finally dug out her many half-started letters and draft a woefully short dispatch to her parents, informing them that she was would be marrying the father of their grandchild in a few short hours. She assured them she hadn't been seduced by one of her teachers, but left out the details. On the whole she found it preferable that they thought her careless rather than a victim of violence. She signed off with an apology and a promise to come and see them soon. When soon would arrive, she wasn't sure.  
  
With the finished letter folded and sealed, Hermione sat at her desk and toyed with the small brass seal. It had been a birthday gift from Ron, and was a simple cursive 'H' surrounded by a wreath of what might have been flowers, leaves, or quite possibly hoofprints. It was rather hard to tell.  
  
She turned it over in her fingers, listening to the sound of Ginny swearing half-heartedly in the bath as she dropped something. In her womb, the baby moved gently, and she ran a hand over the spot. She wasn't huge yet, but she could no longer be mistaken for anything but pregnant. For just one moment she was tempted to tear off the beautiful gown and run screaming down the corridor, denying the looming fate ahead of her and refusing to accept the way her life had somehow spun out of her control.  
  
Since the day Madame Pomfrey had diagnosed her flu-like symptoms as a pregnancy, Hermione had felt she'd lost charge of her life. Where once she'd made rational, sensible decisions regarding the benefits of taking Ancient Runes over Advanced Arithmancy, she was now continually being forced to choose between less and less appealing options. Was marrying Severus Snape really the lesser of two evils?  
  
Hermione had always wondered how impossibly thick her parents could be when they would look at each other and say they had no choice but to do something, whether it was expanding their surgery or replacing the worn furniture in their sitting room. They're grown-ups, she'd thought. Of course they have a choice. Only now was she appreciating the fact that being an adult meant navigating your way though more and more narrow divides, making choices whose results would never be clear cut.  
  
An orange blur abruptly jumped onto the table beside her and gave out a 'mrrw' as he settled on the corner. His buzzing purr increasing as she reached out and scratched his ears, prevented from scooping him up for a cuddle by the thought of the telling off she'd get from Ginny for putting orange cat hairs on her gown. He sniffed at the brass seal and batted it with his paw, pushing it over.  
  
"You'll be a good boy for the house-elves, won't you, Crooks?" she asked. A lazy flick of his bottlebrush tail seemed to say he'd consider the notion. She petted him firmly, hoping he'd be as understanding when she returned after the holiday. A holiday she'd be spending with Severus.  
  
"I'm getting married, old son," she whispered to him, "You'll no longer be the only man in my life."  
  
Crookshanks gave her a head-butt for more petting, supremely unconcerned about his loss in status. Biting her lip, Hermione considered what else her cat might lose - namely sole right to occupy the other half of Hermione's bed. Ignoring the nervous flutter in her stomach, Hermione tried to be logical as she considered the possibility of sharing her bed with Severus. She was honest enough with herself to grant that the idea wasn't horrid. Not in the least. The memory of his kiss the day before and the quick repeat just hours ago led her to believe that he might not consider her repellent, either.  
  
He'd offered Hermione a marriage of convenience, allowing her to take a lover if she chose to do so. While she was certain she didn't want that, she wasn't sure exactly what she DID want. Or what he wanted. And the thought of discussing it with him like rational, reasonable adults made her more than a little queasy.  
  
"Aren't you finished yet?" Ginny demanded from the doorway to the bath, startling her. The younger woman wore a set of blue dress robes Hermione recognized from the previous year's Yule Ball, but they'd been altered a bit, the gold snowflakes charmed into a band of Celtic knot-work along the hem. The waterfall of red hair had been left to hang in artfully loose curls that must have taken her ages to create.  
  
"Yes, I'm done. I'm just thinking."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Sex," Hermione said frankly.  
  
Ginny grinned and all but skipped across the room to perch on the edge of the study table, giving Crookshanks a shove and a petting at the same time. "What about it?"  
  
"Have you slept with Harry yet?"  
  
A faint blush rose in Ginny's cheeks, but she smiled. "Not yet. Ask me again after the hols are over. I have plans."  
  
"Virginia Weasley!" Hermione scolded, laughing. "What would your mother say?"  
  
"I won't tell you what she says, but I know now where Ron gets it from. Though from what I hear, my dad didn't have a chance in Hades when she decided he was the chap for her."  
  
"Well, whatever you do, DON'T forget your Contraceptus potion."  
  
"With my family history?" she snorted. "Not bloody likely."  
  
A rather timid knock on the door sent Ginny scurrying over to open it and immediately kiss the young man standing outside.  
  
"Honestly, Gin," Ron complained. "Give him a chance to come inside!" He rudely pushed his entwined friend and sister and entered the room, only to stop abruptly, his mouth hanging open, as he saw Hermione stand up. The shoulder bags he carried in either hand, each with a broomstick strapped to the back, dropped to the floor.  
  
"Wow," he wheezed.  
  
"Hermione...you look fabulous," Harry told her. Ginny promptly smacked his shoulder. "You look great, too," he added hastily, looking his girlfriend over. She gave him a quick, forgiving kiss.  
  
On his other arm, Hedwig ruffled her wings together as her balance was upset and gave the redheaded girl a yellow-eyed look of reproach. With a few strong flaps of her white wings, the owl glided to a perch on the back of the chair Hermione had just vacated and presented a scaly leg. She held still while Hermione rolled the letter to her parents into a cylinder and tied it on.  
  
"Hedwig," Harry addressed his owl as he lifted her from her perch once more and opened the single window with his other hand. "Please take this letter to Hermione's parents. You've been there often, remember? Where Hermione lives during the summer?"  
  
The owl blinked once, then bated her wings once launched off Harry's arm, dove out the window and quickly disappeared from sight.  
  
"Well, that's done," Harry told them. "We'd better get going. Professor Dumbledore told us to walk you two down to the village before the rest of the students leave for the train station."  
  
With the light hood of the borrowed cloak covering Hermione's head, the four of them slipped out of the castle, avoiding any of the students, and walked down the long lane towards Hogsmeade. April did not equal bonny spring in Scotland, and Hermione drew the cloak tightly around her to ward of the chill.  
  
They walked in silence until they reached the edge of the village, where Harry told them he'd been given the address of a cottage, and instructions to take the girls there and leave them.  
  
"I think Professor Dumbledore owns it, but he doesn't live there any longer. And I'm really sorry we can't stay for the ceremony. Too many people would talk if all four of us are missing on the train."  
  
Bypassing the shopping district, Harry led the way to a residential street. Further down and around a small curve, the newer Tudor-style houses gave way to smaller stone cottages. On either side of the avenue, each home had a long front garden accessed by a gate. The gates were as individual as the house, and the name of the house was usually on a plaque beside it.  
  
"Lemon Drop Cottage," read Ron with disbelief as he dropped Hermione and Ginny's bags to the ground.  
  
"This is it," Harry said unnecessarily. He opened the gate for them and, to her surprise, gave Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good luck."  
  
"Thank you," Hermione murmured, looking up at her friend. She realized anew how much they'd all matured over the last year. Harry was now much taller than she, and when had his voice deepened so much?  
  
He turned to Ginny and put his arms around her, and Hermione looked away to see Ron watching at her, his blue eyes brimming with feeling. She felt some of the same bittersweet emotions rising to choke her, especially when he leaned down and kissed her softly on the mouth, sweet and tender and tasting mostly of goodbye.  
  
"Good luck, Hermione. I love you. You know that, don't you?"  
  
"I love you too, Ron."  
  
Ron squeezed her hand briefly before stepping back, and after a moment of waiting on Harry and Ginny, gave his best friend a hard shove on the shoulder.  
  
"Keep that up and we'll miss the train."  
  
"All right," Harry mumbled as he gave Ginny one last quick kiss.  
  
Hitching up their shoulder bags, the two young men strode back up the street. A train whistle cut though the morning air, and they broke into a run, their broomsticks bouncing on their backs, and gave one last wave goodbye over their shoulders.  
  
Inside the gate the garden was warm, and Hermione could feel the subtle tingle of magic in the charm that filled the air with a sweet scent of early summer. Ginny stopped and toed off her shoes, her green-painted toes wiggling in the cool, frost-seared grass of the garden. Following her lead, Hermione lifted the hem of her gown and did likewise.  
  
Watching from the door of the cottage, Remus Lupin called out "They're here," to someone inside and came down the walk to greet them. Instead of his usual robes, he wore a rather faded brown shirt, untucked, over a pair of brown trousers. He, too, had foregone his footwear, and to no real surprise possessed rather large and hairy feet.  
  
Severus stopped dead in the doorway as he saw Hermione at the end of the garden walk, and for a single instant, he thought a nymph had somehow found her way to Dumbledore's cottage. A crown of white flowers had been fastened in her honey-brown hair, which cascaded in elegant spirals over her shoulders. Delicate collarbones were framed by the neckline of the white gown. The rich fabric left her arms bare but flowed over her body, lovingly outlining her curves and lightly draping over the slight prominence of her pregnancy.  
  
"Severus, my boy, you're blocking the door."  
  
Scowling at his own inept reaction and the Headmaster's obvious amusement, Severus moved out of Dumbledore's way. The older wizard joined Remus in welcoming the young women, leaving his former Potions Master to follow behind. Ginny immediately began questioning her former DADA teacher, asking after Sirius Black and drawing the normally quiet man into an animated conversation.  
  
Hermione accepted the welcoming noises from Dumbledore, but watched her future husband descend the step, scowling. He wore his usual black trousers and white shirt, though the shirt was untucked and his scowl was more pronounced than usual. She wondered nervously what had upset him. Knowing he'd spent the morning with Professor Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, she thought the odds of it being something she'd done were slim.  
  
Dumbledore peered up at the man as he finally joined the rest of the group on the lawn. "With a scowl like that, Severus, one would guess you were facing a firing squad."  
  
"It's your wedding day, man," Remus told him. "Surely one smile won't kill you."  
  
His half-lidded eyes told Hermione he was not amused at the teasing.  
  
"Well, Hermione," said Dumbledore prosaically, "if he doesn't cheer up, you can always marry Remus here."  
  
"Only if he brought his dueling wand with him," Severus interjected.  
  
"It's all right, Professor. I've gotten used to the scowling." Hermione replied. "And his sarcasm's easy enough to ignore, once you've got the hang of it."  
  
With an approving smile, Dumbledore removed his hat and tucked it under his belt, revealing a freckled scalp where his silvery white hair had gone thin in the back. He caught Hermione glancing at the hem of his robes and lifted the hem to show off a dry, horny-soled bare foot with knobby toes. Remus, his own gray hairs glinting slightly in the sunlight, gave a significant look to the boots on Severus' feet.  
  
With a suffering expression the man kicked them off, and quickly stepped on each black sock in turn to remove them. "You were expecting cloven hooves, Miss Weasley?" he commented to Ginny, who simply grinned.  
  
"You have the ring?" Dumbledore asked Remus, who held up his little finger. A glitter between his first and second knuckle attested to the ring's presence.  
  
"The ribbon?"  
  
Ginny unwrapped a length of ribbon from her wrist and held it up.  
  
"Excellent. Then, if the bride and groom are ready?" He looked at Severus and Hermione over his glasses. Severus gave a curt nod.  
  
"There is one thing," Hermione whispered to her soon-to-be husband.  
  
He frowned at her, suddenly concerned. "What is it?"  
  
"You do realize I come with a cat?"  
  
His eyebrow lifted. "Yes, I was aware that orange monster was yours. I'd love to sic him on Mrs. Norris some day."  
  
"All right, then." Stifling an all-too-inappropriate giggle, Hermione faced Dumbledore and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She was ready.  
  
Dumbledore gestured to them, chivying them to form a loose circle. To Hermione's surprise, the old wizard began to speak in a serious tone, his trademark twinkle disappearing as he asked the witnesses to attest to the free will of the participants. Later, she could not remember the exact words the sorcerer used to ask her to swear herself to Severus, only that he had not spoken of love or romance, but rather loyalty, honor, and responsibility. His usually genial voice deepened until the ground seemed to tremble under Hermione's feet.  
  
After the vows, Severus took the ring from Remus and slid it onto Hermione's finger. When he released her left hand, Ginny took it. Severus took her right hand, and she saw him clasp Remus' without embarrassment. Dumbledore took the ribbon from Ginny and wove the ribbon around Severus and Hermione's clasped hands, then took Ginny and Remus' hands in his own, completing the circle.  
  
Not a circle, she thought, but a pentacle, the ancient symbol of protection. Invoked by a sorcerer of Dumbledore's power, it was nothing to be taken lightly. Belatedly she realized that the ground WAS trembling beneath her in response to the headmaster's words as he called on the very earth and air to bear witness to the marriage.  
  
For years she'd heard that Albus Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards in the world, but she had never witnessed any aspect of him other than the warm and puckish headmaster. Now, here in a dormant garden under a cold spring sky, she caught a glimpse of the wizard who made Voldemort nervous, a seasoned mage who had battled evil on an unbelievable scale for more than a century.  
  
All too soon it was over and Dumbledore, his merry twinkle firmly back in place, was kissing her on the cheek, shaking Snape's hand and calling out congratulations. He ushered them all inside, where the Hogwarts house- elves had left a cold lunch and small cakes covered with powdered sugar. With the meal Dumbledore poured out a bottle of mead, Hermione's glass holding little more than a splash to observe the formalities.  
  
The mead had a strong, dry flavor Hermione didn't particularly care for. Most of the toasts went past her without much notice. She was preoccupied with the fact that Severus, her husband of less than two hours, was sitting opposite her, absently toying with his food and speaking very little. The luncheon dragged on interminably, though Ginny enjoyed herself fully as Dumbledore and Remus took turns subtly baiting the groom.  
  
All too soon, Ginny lit a fire in the massive stone fireplace and gave her a final hug before she Floo'ed to the Burrow. The three men begged her pardon as they excused themselves and disappeared into the empty study. The door closed with a solid click, and Hermione knew perfectly well they were discussing Severus' future spying activities.  
  
Left to her own devices, she puttered about the cottage. She found the single bedroom when she went in search of the loo, which fortunately had up to date plumbing. She decided not to think about that just at the moment and continued exploring, discovering a tiny kitchen that was even more antiquated than the Weasleys' and startling the house-elf wearing a Hogwarts tea towel toga. The elf, one Hermione did not know personally, was horrified when she offered to help clear the dishes. Instead she was presented with a cup of tea she didn't really want and shooed back out into the sitting room.  
  
Twisting the new ring on her finger, Hermione wandered around the room investigating. The house had a decidedly unlived-in air, and contained few clues that indicated Albus Dumbledore had ever lived here. One photo on the wall displayed a barely recognizable Dumbledore and a young woman. Even though the image was in black and white, Dumbledore's beard was obviously darker and fairly short. The woman wore traditional witch's robes, which made it hard to gauge the era, but she judged the photo to be nearly fifty years old.  
  
Eventually, Hermione selected a book from the pile that had obviously been taken from the study and never returned and settled in front of the fire Ginny had lit. The chair was squashy and quite comfortable, and she dozed off without realizing it.  
  
Pointedly ignoring Remus' last minute comments, no matter how well intentioned, Severus finally shut the door on the departing werewolf and went to find his wife. The discussion in Dumbledore's study had gone on far longer than anticipated, but Severus had been just fine with that. However, once the business had been completed, he'd been beset from both sides with thinly-veiled, well-intentioned advice that irritated the hell out of him. Bad enough that he didn't know where he'd be sleeping that night; he hardly needed prodding from a career bachelor and a man who was nearly a century older than himself.  
  
A quick search located Hermione curled up in a chair, her cheek propped on the heel of her hand. Wishing for something stronger, Severus emptied the last of the mead into a glass. He grimaced at the sweetness as he took the chair opposite Hermione's and leaned back heavily to watch her sleep. She needed more rest as her body supported the child growing within her, he knew, and he worried that she'd been neglecting herself again. She hadn't eaten much at lunch.  
  
In her sleep, she shifted, and the book in her lap slid perilously close to the edge of her lap. Severus leaned forward and took it, but the slight movement woke her.  
  
Hermione lifted her head and blinked, looking at the book in her husband's hand. "I'm sorry I fell asleep. What time is it?" Her stomach growled rudely.  
  
"It's time to feed you again," he commented, holding out his hand. She took it and let him draw her up and lead her to the kitchen. The house-elf had disappeared and so wasn't present to object as Severus put a plate of cold sliced meat, some cheese, and a loaf of bread on the rickety wooden table and pulled out a chair for her. They ate in silence until he asked her if something was wrong.  
  
"No, I was just thinking that today was very different than a Muggle wedding ceremony."  
  
"How so?" he asked, taking up a knife and cutting another slice of bread.  
  
"First of all, you're allowed to wear shoes."  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched.  
  
"And, usually you're required to invite everyone you've ever met, and then feed them all. Can't say I miss that part. Though I do wish my parents had been here," she added.  
  
"Of course you do," he said reasonably. "I'm sure your friends would have been here as well, if they'd had a choice in the matter."  
  
"There's also usually a huge cake," Hermione went on. "The bride and groom cut it together, and then sometimes they feed each other the first bite."  
  
"Sounds messy," Severus commented, firmly repressing the mental image of Hermione licking a dollop of frosting off his fingers.  
  
"Well, some go mad and smash it on each other's faces, but that's rather tacky."  
  
She shivered and pulled her chilled feet off the cold flagstone floor, intending to tuck them underneath her only to remember the costly gown. The warming charm had worn off the cottage, and the fire from the sitting room did little to fight the cool creeping in from outside.  
  
"You're cold," Severus observed with a frown. "Where are your things?"  
  
It took her a moment to remember, to her embarrassment, they'd been left outside. "I've think I've left them out in the garden, along with my shoes."  
  
"I'll get them."  
  
"But - " she protested.  
  
"Consider it my first husbandly duty," he said dryly.  
  
"They're by the gate," she called out.  
  
He brought in the two small bags she'd packed, one the schoolbag with her holiday homework, the other slightly larger with clothes. He draped the cloak around her shoulders and resumed his meal.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What do we do now?"  
  
He did not answer immediately, finishing his bite and washing it down with the last of the mead. "That is entirely dependent on you. I had thought that we should become accustomed to each other's company, without Madame Pomfrey's inestimable contributions or the so-called wit of my colleagues."  
  
He took her empty plate and added it to his own and put them both in the sink for the house-elf to deal with. Hermione took the glasses and silver to put beside the plates, fairly certain his efforts were more to avoid the subject than to help the housekeeper. Unsure herself of how to proceed, Hermione collected her borrowed cloak and went to the bags he'd deposited by the far wall.  
  
His voice held a tinge of regret as he spoke behind her. "I realize this isn't the wedding young girls dream about."  
  
"Not exactly," Hermione replied. "Although I hadn't ever given it a great deal of thought, really. There were always so many other things to worry about."  
  
This certainly wasn't the most romantic of locations, in a ramshackle kitchen that could not even boast of an electric cooker. But Hermione's swirling doubts coalesced into a determination that even if she had lost control of her life, she could at the least prod it in the right direction. Gathering her courage, she stood and mimicked his posture, putting her hands behind her back and leaned against the stone wall just as he leaned back against the countertop.  
  
The caress of the silk over her breasts was deliciously sensuous, sparking her nerves enough to say one more thing.  
  
"I always imagined that when I married, my husband might be at least a little attracted to me."  
  
Severus went entirely still, staring at Hermione as she raised her chin and met his eyes boldy. The light from the lamps brought out the blue-black glimmer in his hair as he tilted his head to one side, studying her. He took one step towards her.  
  
"You think I don't want you?" he asked, his voice low. He took another slow step, and then another. "I've spent the last few weeks fixated on nothing but you." The kitchen was narrow, and he was quickly closing in on her.  
  
"You were?" she blurted, then abruptly colored. "I must be completely thick."  
  
Only an arm's-length separated them, and Severus was hard-pressed to maintain that distance against the urge that pulled at him like gravity. "I know you don't think of me as a romantic lover, Hermione. I'm quite aware of my shortcomings in that regard, not to mention more than a bit out of practice."  
  
"I don't - I don't know what to think about you," she answered honestly. "You're not my old Potions teacher. I'm not sure who you are."  
  
Hermione felt as though she could not take a full breath, pinned against the stone wall by only the weight of his gaze. His eyes were dark and vibrant, burning with an intensity she'd never seen in them before.  
  
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in towards her, lowered his head and brushed her mouth with his own, his lips gentle yet firm against hers.  
  
"I'm your husband," he murmured, kissing her again, lightly, testing her reaction. One hand settled on her middle, his long fingers stirring slightly on the taut skin of her stomach, heat radiating from his palm as he cupped her belly. His other hand went to the wall beside her, causing her stomach to flutter in recognition of his larger size and undeniable masculine presence.  
  
This time, Hermione lifted her mouth to his, cautiously tasting his lower lip. With a groan he pressed in against her, diving in for a deep, openmouthed kiss. The nearness of his body seemed to overwhelm her, the scent of skin and cotton and man rushing over her senses. She let her hands settled on his shoulders as he coaxed her mouth open. He'd never be accused of having broad shoulders, but his spare frame was solid and capable under her hands, and he was definitely NOT out of practice.  
  
She was lost as that one hand caressed her swollen flesh possessively, curving around to find her waist, what was left of it, pulling her body closer to his. It was slightly awkward, but she wasn't so big that he couldn't bend her back, just a little, arching her in his arms. The world was shifting around her, even though the wall remained a solid anchor at her back. His breath shortened as he kissed her, long and lingering.  
  
"Hermione," he groaned, his mouth skating down her cheek to the tender spot below her ear, reveling in the way she arched her neck to allow him access. "I swear to you...I won't do anything you don't want. I'll stop any time you say it."  
  
The past few months of longing came crashing down on her, and now it was real. Severus Snape was her husband, and he was kissing her with a wholly unsuspected intensity. His tongue stroked the inside of her mouth gently, learning the shape and taste of her, meeting her own tentative exploration and encouraging it. Her arms twined around his neck as she molded her body against his, feeling the heat and strength of him. It seemed perfectly right to surrender to him completely.  
  
"Don't stop," she breathed, kissing the hollow of his throat and finding just where on his neck made him react. "I want you, Severus. I think I've wanted you for months. Make love to me, please?"  
  
He drew back to gauge the sincerity in her eyes, his own glittering with need. Whatever words he would have spoken died before he could utter a more than an inarticulate sound, but his hands were strong and sure as they pulled her body against his before sweeping down and lifting her from the ground.  
  
Severus had no conscious memory of the walk between the kitchen and the bedroom, but the sight of her as he laid her on the bed, her hair tousled and still caught with flowers, her lips red and swollen from his kisses, was one which he was certain would be branded into his memory forever. Impatient, he flung off the loose white shirt and knelt on the bed to kiss her again, shuddering as her hands skimmed over his chest, brushing the sparse black hairs on his lean chest, exploring the planes and ropy muscles of his arms.  
  
It took more self-control that he wanted to admit to just lay down beside her and pull her closer. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her by rushing. She was warm and sweet under his mouth, returning his kisses with sighs and little moans while her fingers traced his neck and spine. He wasn't entirely aware of what his own hands were doing until he found the knee-high slit in her gown, her thigh warm and soft underneath. The thought of her naked under the gown sent blood pounding through his brain, and other places as well.  
  
When she pulled back from him, he feared he'd gone too far until he saw her hands fumbling as she unfastened the brooch on her shoulder. The gauzy fabric whispered against her skin and caused a shiver as it collapsed down her back.  
  
Severus took the jeweled pin from her and laid it on the table beside the bed, then, glancing at her for permission, unpinned its mate. The loose material caught on the swell of her breast, and she watched his hands lay the other pin down before he gently leaned down and kissed her again.  
  
Try as he might to slow down, he nearly lost all semblance of control as the white silk slid down, revealing her. He had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted his wife at that moment. She gasped softly as he cupped her breast, the loose fabric falling further away from her curves as he touched her, and the sight of her bare breasts went though him like a shock. They were darker than he remembered, but he thrust that thought away as he bent his head and tasted them. This was her first time, regardless of the child that swelled her waistline. This was the first time a man made love to her, and if he had his way, she would always remember it.  
  
Encouraged by her unsteady breathing and the restless hands that roved over his shoulders and into his hair as he worshiped her skin, Severus pushed the Handfasting gown down, gliding it over the roundness of her stomach and down her legs. She made a noise of protest and wrapped one arm over her exposed abdomen.  
  
"What is it? He asked gently.  
  
"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I just feel so... fat."  
  
"Hmmm." His soft black hair brushed her breasts as he drifted down to kiss the smooth cabochon rise of her belly. " When I look at you, other words come to mind. Ripe. Full. Exquisite." His mouth opened on her skin, drifting across her rounded form as though he could not get enough of her taste, more addictive than any drug.  
  
He cradled her body with his, touching her with fleeting, stolen brushes against her skin. She touched his bare back and nearly moaned at the feel of it, smooth and silky with the hard underlay of muscle and bone. He was reluctant to use any of that strength on her until she pulled herself in against him, wanting to feel him. One daring hand into the back waistband of his trousers, and he pulled back enough to unbutton them himself.  
  
At last his arms came around her, possessive, strong, and she felt both vulnerable and protected as he leaned over her. His hands on her breasts, sensitive and heavy with her condition, drew her arousal spiraling upward with only the mildest of caresses. The hot, wet suckling of his mouth began on her nipples, she thought she would orgasm from that alone.  
  
Incandescent fire followed his fingers between her thighs, leaving her whimpering with need as he found her core. His large hands stroked without before delving gently within her heat, teasing her with a gentle exploration that left her gasping.  
  
"Hermione! Do you want me?" he whispered urgently as he positioned himself over her.  
  
Her thighs opened mindlessly as she reached for him. "Gods, yes. More than anything. Please!" she responded, arching up towards him, frantic for relief from the madness of arousal.  
  
"Show me," he insisted in a ragged voice, nudging her wet folds. "Open for me."  
  
It took a moment for what he was asking to register. Hermione's eyes locked with his as she trailed her fingers down his chest, down between their bodies, to spread herself for his invasion. There would never be any doubt in his mind that she wanted him at this moment.  
  
He slid into her depths, his body shaking with his need. They groaned in unison.  
  
She groped blindly for his shoulder, but Severus took her hand and licked the traces of moisture from her fingers. Her eyes widened at this, and the devilish grin he gave her in return reminded her again how little she knew about the man she now called husband, who even now made her body flare with desire. He kissed her mouth and plunged deeply into her.  
  
The random thought that his back was going to ache horribly in the morning floated in the back of Severus' mind, but that was a negligible concern against the devastating pleasure of making love to Hermione Granger. Fuck that, Hermione Snape. His wife. Beautiful, clever wife, nearly six months gone with the pregnancy he was currently arched over, doing his best not to squash, fighting his hardest not to lose it as she cried out.  
  
He slowed as he sensed her distress, using every shred of his self-control.  
  
"I've got you," he whispered reassuringly she overcame the momentary panic. "You're safe." For half a moment he'd though she'd had a flash of memory, then remembered her pregnancy had made her entire body more sensitive. That sensitivity included the region where they were so intimately joined, and she'd no doubt been overwhelmed by the sensation of him moving inside her.  
  
"Sorry," she murmured, unable to apologize more as he kissed her. His hands slipped under her shoulders, rocking into her gently while he braced himself on his elbows and cradled her in his arms. In little words and kisses he encouraged her to move with him, guiding the inexperienced movement of her hips.  
  
Hermione surrendered to his lead, and he watched her for the signs, more intently than he'd ever watched any of his potions. When her mouth fell open in soundless gasps he leaned in to kiss her deeply as they both fell into the abyss and glorious release.  
  
A sleepy protest was the first sound she made as he left her body, moving to one side and rolling her slightly so her head came to rest on his shoulder. Their legs remained entangled, her hand on his chest as she snuggled into his hold. She fell asleep almost immediately.  
  
As she dozed off, Severus felt his heartbeat return to normal. He'd never been one to doze off after orgasm, though many men did. His encounters had been few and far between in the last years, and falling asleep was normally a dangerous idea. Now, however, he simply wanted to hold this incredible creature in his arms and convince himself this was real.  
  
Gently, not wanting to wake her, he slid a palm along the rounded midriff, grazed the indent of her navel that was just about to give up the battle to remain and innie and become an outie instead. The drying sweat on his body reminded him that the cool night was creeping into the room. With a minimum of movement he summoned his wand and lit the fire before pulling the covers up over them both.  
  
Still unwilling to sleep, he watched the young woman in his arms, removing a bruised flower petal from her tangled hair. His wife. His child. Things he'd long ago considered far beyond his reach. Years spent snarling at concepts he told himself he didn't want, since there was absolutely no chance in hell he'd ever have them. And yet here they were, in his arms.  
  
  
  
Author's note: To see a picture of a chiton, go here: http://www.uky.edu/ArtsSciences/Classics/pics/p14.gif 


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: The following chapter includes a graphic description of violence. It is not meant to be titillating in ANY way, or to romanticize this kind of violence. It is, however, meant to relay a sense of sacrifice and courage under fire.  
  
But please, do not read this if the concept of rape, in any form, bothers you. Skip right to the next chapter (which will be a week or more in coming). And if you STILL read it and feel compelled to flame, have the guts to sign it.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Struggling against the dark waves of unconsciousness, Hermione slowly woke. Fabric tickled her nose, making it twitch, and her jaw was sore. More than sore, as she squinted into the darkness, trying to open her eyes. Her jaw ached with a throbbing agony, and as she moved it the pain flared even higher. Cuspid and bicuspid, the analytical part of her identified automatically from the charts from her parents' office.  
  
Her face was buried in folds of cloth, her ragged breathing sucking it in towards her mouth. No matter how she twisted her head, it remained, and she was unable to reach it with her hands. Her arms strained, but her hands would not come up. Her wrists hurt as well, and she realized vaguely she was lying face down, her wrists are fastened behind her. This was wrong - she hadn't been able to lie on her stomach for weeks. The baby in her womb took great exception to being crowded.  
  
Oh. Just a dream, her sleeping mind realized. I'm just dreaming that I've woken up. Once recognized, it was a simple enough matter to stretch her thoughts just so, to push against the barriers and derail a burgeoning nightmare. She'd been able to do that since she was ten.  
  
Except it didn't work.  
  
The dream was more real, more immediate than any fantasy spun by her unconscious mind. It was eerily reminiscent of the few times she'd been dropped into a Pensive. And the instant she made that connection was when her sleeping mind realized that Professor Dumbledore's Anisthetae had finally worn off.  
  
A sound came, a door opening, then suddenly strong hands seized her upper arm and dragged her from the lumpy cot on which she lay. A physical presence, larger than herself, more powerful, steered her ungently forward, paying no mind as she careened off a doorjamb and collided with his bulk. It's a man, some instinct told her, and fear that had been a vague fog contracted suddenly into her stomach, sharp and immediate.  
  
Voices came near, and a dim light made some impression on the dark hood over her head.  
  
"I don't have time for this, Lucius," snapped a familiar voice.  
  
"You don't have time to do our Lord's bidding, Severus?" questioned a dryly aristocratic voice. "I wonder why that is."  
  
"Because I'm under Dumbledore's thumb, you fool. The man may be in his dotage, but he still keeps a sharp eye on me and those in my House. If he suspects me of backsliding, he'll have in Azkaban without a moment's warning."  
  
"How convincing you are, old friend. Or at least our Lord thinks so. He believes you, you see. Seems to think you're providing a valuable service to our cause by your position of kissing Dumbledore's backside." The casual voice hardened. "Our Lord is convinced of your loyalty, Severus, but I am not. And the more I think on it, the less convinced I am."  
  
"What do you want, Lucius?" the Potions Master responded acidly. "My protestations of loyalty? A sworn statement? Full page ad in the Prophet, perhaps?"  
  
"Harry Potter's head on a platter would be a start."  
  
"I cannot touch the boy, you know that. The only reason I stay in that accursed school is to keep an eye on the brat, and on your brat as well."  
  
"Yes, Draco, my son and heir. He's had a lot to say about you lately. About your potions class. About a certain Mudblood."  
  
"If you're referring to the Granger chit, there's nothing I can do about her. She's Head Girl, and if your precious offspring would stop whining and trouble himself to study on occasion, he might actually stand a chance against that annoying little know-it-all. But as she does study, and Draco seldom deigns to open his textbook, it's no surprise her marks are better than his."  
  
A note of satisfaction crept into Malfoy's voice. "Well, I'm going to remove that thorn from your side, Severus. It's Halloween night, and we have a warning to issue."  
  
"Has our lord approved this.. warning? You know how appreciative he can be of independent thought, Lucius," he continued silkily. "Are you confident your actions are correct?"  
  
"I have his sanction and blessing for this. He wants to send that fool of a Headmaster a message on his lenient policies. Bad enough the most respected wizarding institution has been overrun with half-bloods and worse. An example must be made."  
  
"What kind of example?" Snape asked, suspicious.  
  
Lucius must have signaled, since the strong hands holding Hermione dragged her forward and thrust her into the room. She lost her footing, as had been intended, and fell heavily. Her arm twisted awkwardly under her and she cried out as a dull snap shot agony through the front of her shoulder. A cruel chuckle accompanied the footsteps that come closer to her, and a hand dragged the hood roughly off her head.  
  
Curled on her side, Hermione blinked against the light that seemed so bright at first. Of the men surrounding her, she recognized Lucius Malfoy first. Two other men stood nearby, looking so much like Draco Malfoy's two cronies that she guessed they must be the senior Crabbe and Goyle. A third man, not quite as big as the others but still quite large, stood beside her.  
  
He seemed familiar, and the pang in her jaw dragged up the memory of a man stepping out of the alley near the Three Broomsticks and suddenly swinging a ham-sized fist at her face. He must have been the one who'd taken her from Hogsmeade.  
  
In actuality, the room was lit by a few branches of candles on the walls and on a table to one side. The heavy shadows threw the walls in dramatic highlights, making the stuffed heads on the richly paneled walls seem nearly lifelike. Here a hippogriff screamed silently, its severed front legs crossed under the bronze feathers of its neck. On the far wall hung a gold plaque with a unicorn's head, glassy eyes dull with dust. Between the crossbows and pikes that completed the decoration of this rather bizarre version of a wizard's hunting lodge, several other mystical and mundane animals stared dispassionately into the room.  
  
She turned to the last man, standing beside Malfoy with his eyes narrowed in familiar disdain. Severus Snape.  
  
"Professor?" she called. A thread of hope blossomed and instantly shriveled against the certain knowledge that he would not, could not do anything to help her.  
  
"Vocabulus Strangulatem," Malfoy intoned, pointing his black wand at her. From the wand shot a gray haze which settled around her neck, greasy and unpleasant.  
  
"What." she began, only to feel the spell constrict instantly, choking her until black spots appeared before her eyes. When it released and allowed her to draw a gasping breath, she saw the pleased smirk on Malfoy's face.  
  
"Have you lost your mind, Lucius?" Snape asked, sounding bored. "The girl knows me, and you. No matter what memory charm you put on her, Dumbledore will be able to break it if you give him sufficient reason to do so."  
  
"Not if she's dead," Malfoy pointed out reasonably. "And she will be, when we're done with her. She'll look so tragic, don't you think, draped before the gates of Hogwarts with nothing but her precious badge on her ravished body? Half the Mudbloods in the school will be gone by the end of the week."  
  
"Five Galleons says it's more," rumbled the third Death Eater.  
  
"Feeling confident, Avery? Very well, you're on," Malfoy agreed. "What about you, Severus? Care to make a wager?"  
  
"I'll keep my money," Snape said coldly. "And so would you, if you were wise. She's bloody well Head Girl, you idiot. It will be all over the Prophet."  
  
"That's exactly the point!" Lucius snapped. "We cannot allow Mudbloods to take over our world!"  
  
"Murdering a student will attract too much attention! If you want to make an example of Mudbloods, wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend. The town will be overrun with students, you can beat a dozen of them bloody if you want!"  
  
"All liberty weekends have been canceled, you fool. No students are allowed to leave the school now, and the next time they are the town will be crawling with Aurors! Someone told Dumbledore about our plans today!"  
  
"All the more reason to wait! You never had a head for strategy, Lucius. Kill her, and you'll bring Aurors even faster, and I'll be their first suspect!"  
  
"No one saw you leave the grounds, Severus. No one will think you had a thing to do with this."  
  
"I won't have anything to do with this. I'm leaving, and I highly recommend you listen to sense instead of your ego. Obliviate the girl, give her a plausible reason for her tardiness, and wait for a better opportunity." He paused, as if considering some unpleasant duty. "If you like, I'll take her now and come up with some story of her spraining her ankle or some rot. You may thank me later."  
  
An ugly glitter appeared in Malfoy's eyes, so very like his son's, and the tension crackled between the two men. Snape's movement was a blur as he went for his wand, but Malfoy's wand was already out and in his hand.  
  
"Imperio!"  
  
For an instant Severus Snape stood absolutely still, his wand half-drawn from his sleeve. The stillness disintegrated quickly as slight tremors in his hands began, growing to a palsied shaking as his mind struggled against the Unforgivable.  
  
"He's fighting it!" Malfoy snarled. "Together! Imperio!"  
  
"Imperio!" echoed the other three, their wands out, and the four spells together stilled Snape's hands again. Malfoy smiled with a thin, self- pleased expression that made Hermione shudder.  
  
"That's much better, isn't it, old friend? Put your wand away, that's a good boy." Under Malfoy's mellifluous direction, Snape's wand was again thrust up his sleeve and the man stood, swaying slightly, his hands down at his side and his face uncharacteristically blank. Malfoy walked around him, stepping absently over Hermione's prone body.  
  
"Severus Snape. At my command. How delicious," Malfoy purred. "For years I've done as you commanded, fed off your leavings while you wormed you way deeper and deeper into our lord's favor. Coward!" he spat. "You always loved to give the orders, tell us what to do and what not to do. You've never understood the real work." He leaned close to Snape's ear, his handsome blond head next to Snape's dark, hooded features. "Fear. That is our work. Fear makes a man do what he's told, not some spell or ridiculous potion. The whip hand, my friend. But not for you, oh, no. You never liked to get your hands dirty."  
  
Malfoy circled his victim once more. "Well, you're going to get your hands dirty now, old friend," he assured Snape. On your knees!" he shouted.  
  
Jerkily, Snape obeyed and knelt on the floor. "You're mine now, Severus," continued Malfoy. "I can make you do anything. Just imagine the possibilities!" He laughed, and his cronies laughed with him, obedient. "Want to lick my boot, Severus? Fool! Lick her boot instead. Go on, lick it!"  
  
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief as Snape shuffled forward on his knees and reached out to grasp one of her ankles. She fought the urge to kick at him as he brought the cheap leather to his mouth and stared, appalled, as the tip of his tongue came out and swiped the toe of her shoe.  
  
Somehow, despite the lump of her combined fists digging painfully into her back, the ache in her shoulder and the suffocating fear, Hermione felt some shame for the man at her feet. She knew very little about the highly unpleasant Potions Master, but could not imagine such a proud man forced to demean himself. Watching this was nearly as humiliating as it must be to endure, and Lucius Malfoy was smiling like a child with a new toy to play with.  
  
"You're lucky I prefer girls, Severus, or we could have had a very long night ahead of us." Malfoy's intense concentration shifted to Hermione, and another frisson of fear shot through her. "Muggle-born witches are for tickling under the hedgerow, old boy. Not for making into Head Girls."  
  
The elegant man shifted his weight and stared at her, as if considering the pattern of a rug. "Remove the shirt," he said negligently. "Anything else, too."  
  
Hermione gasped and tried to worm away, but Snape's grip on her ankle reeled her back. His knee came down heavily over her legs and pinned her in place while his hands, so competent when formulating a potion, were clumsy as they reached for her. A single "NO!" burst from her lips before the spell around her throat constricted again, rendering her struggling ineffective as she fought to breathe.  
  
She was helpless to stop him as the lovely new blouse her mother had bought her was yanked open, buttons tearing through the fine silk and revealing her bra. His fingers slid inside the cups of the bra and tore the lacy fabric apart in a surprising show of strength. The cold air hit her exposed skin but did not cool the blush of shame that rose in her face and down her chest while the men around her cheered and whistled.  
  
Above her, Snape's dark eyes glittered in panic, not lust, but his hands did not falter as he followed Malfoy's further instructions. Hermione turned her head away, closing her eyes tightly and biting her lip to stop from crying out as he touched her. Her flesh reacted automatically, tightening into hard peaks, and she could not evade his mouth as he sucked on each in turn. She discovered that the spell still allowed her to scream when Malfoy ordered him to use his teeth.  
  
Sobbing helplessly, Hermione did not react immediately as the weight on her shifted and he moved down her legs. Despite the spell, she could not help crying out when her skirt was rudely pushed up; her vision went black as her air was cut off, but clearly felt the harsh tug as her panties ripped along one hip. Her knees were seized and pushed apart roughly.  
  
Forcing her eyes to look above the dark head bent over her, she could make out Malfoy's malevolent expression as he thoroughly enjoyed having Snape as his puppet; his commands were succinct and couched in the crudest terms. It never occurred to her that while the other men shouted advice and disgusting commands, Snape followed only those that Malfoy issued, and only in the quickest, most perfunctory way. His hands shook as he fought the magical geas that held him captive.  
  
Those same long, strong hands bit into her inner thighs as they were forced down, and she gasped as a warm mouth descended onto the most intimate part of her, leaving her wet with his saliva. She struggled as Snape was ordered to explore her. First one, then two fingers probed her sex, working the moisture inside her, implacable in their invasion. Instinct led her to shove with her heels, trying to crab back and away on her elbows. A booted foot shoved down on her shoulder, fortunately not the broken one, and halted her attempt to escape.  
  
Suddenly, it seemed, Snape's dark form loomed over her, and she felt the hard stab of something against her inner thigh. Unable to help herself, Hermione looked up at him and for an instant his gaze locked with hers.  
  
In the past years she had seen his lip curl with disdain, his eyes dart with suspicion, droop with malice, expressing sarcasm and loathing and a thousand different shades of anger and contempt. Yet at this moment Snape's face showed only horror, a window into a personal hell from a man who had seen far too much of it already.  
  
"Do it!" ordered Malfoy.  
  
Snape held her hips down as he forced his way into her, hesitating at the entrance before he surged heavily and broke her maidenhead. Hermione felt as though she was being split open; the invasion was too painful to let her scream and she writhed beneath his weight. The next surge was worse, it went even deeper; she felt she must be torn in half by the huge presence of him within her.  
  
The voices around her dimmed in her ears as she came close to unconsciousness, but that blessing was denied. She felt her attacker roughly pull her knees up before he thrust again, and pain exploded in her stomach as his hard shaft began to batter at her cervix.  
  
She made the mistake of looking up, and was horrified to see one of the men above her stroking himself through his robe, plainly waiting for his turn at her. For all the cheering and loud comments going over them, the men could have been observing a Quidditch match. Tears trailed down her temples, dampening her hair, and the hard grip on her thigh shifted to her waist. She thought she must surely die from the pain and humiliation, and wanted nothing more than to sink into the hard floor beneath her and disappear from the world entirely.  
  
Under the jeers and crude comments above her, a quiet hiss of a voice calling her name finally registered.  
  
"Open - your hand - Hermione. Open it!" The words were breathed rather than spoken, and she obeyed before she realized the breaths were in time with Snape's movement. Beneath her waist she felt something that might have been his thumb prying at her clenched fingers, which opened as something hard was pushed into her grip. Long, slender -  
  
It was his wand.  
  
Without thinking her hand grasped the wand. Her head shifted, and above her Severus Snape's tense face came into focus through a sparse curtain of his black hair, his rather crooked teeth clenched tightly. Shadowed, his eyes met hers as his fingers wrapped around her own beneath her back.  
  
"Finite Incantatum," he whispered. A tingle of magic went through the wand in her fingers, and in turn the wand recognized her power, used in tandem with that of its true owner. An instant later the greasy, constrictive spell around her neck evaporated. His fingers tightened her own around the ebony stick before releasing, leaving it in her hand.  
  
The noise and the pain faded into the distance as their gaze met once more, despair and pain shared between them, before Nature could no longer be denied. He turned his face from her as his body stiffened. Sensitive, ravaged flesh made her even more aware of the deep pulsing and the hot seed deposited deep inside her, his body shuddering as he spilled himself. The men around them cheered as they recognized the signs, and Hermione felt him withdraw from her body almost immediately.  
  
The sound of slow, measured clapping made her look up to see Malfoy applauding Snape's performance. Snape, she noticed, had sunk back on his heels, his face downcast as his hands put his trousers to rights. Those same hands, pale and clenched, drifted down beside his thighs, though his body language showed only acquiescence and an odd resignation.  
  
The smug expression on Malfoy's face changed to one of cruel hunger as he moved in, ignoring Snape's kneeling form as he fumbled for the buttons on his trousers. Neither he nor Hermione saw the knife Snape pulled from his boot until it flew up, directed by its owner's rangy strength, and buried itself in Malfoy's side.  
  
Malfoy screamed harshly and one of the men stepped forward and kicked Snape, quick and hard. Shouts rang out as the others followed suit. Avery seized Snape by the front of his robes, dragging him up, and swung a massive fist into his face. A second blow sent Snape staggering backwards into the fireplace mantel with a crash. Small china pieces and a handsome set of brass candlesticks showered to the floor as Snape tried to catch himself, blood streaming from his mouth and nose. Goyle and Crabbe stalked after him.  
  
No one noticed when Hermione rolled to her side, out of the way, ignoring the screaming pain of her abused body as she scrabbled across the floor to gain the dubious safety of the nearest wall. The wand in her hand tangled in her torn skirt and open blouse, but the sounds of heavy blows told her she had to seize the chance she'd been given. She took a deep breath.  
  
Concentrating, she breathed the words to break the bonds around her wrists. Not for nothing was Hermione the cleverest witch at Hogwarts. Spell casting required only concentration and the formulation of words, which Malfoy's spell had prevented. The words did not have to be audible.  
  
Her wrists burned from the restored circulation as the cords loosened and dropped away. Hermione covertly rolled over to see if anyone had noticed her. They had not; instead one of the men was holding Lucius Malfoy upright, whispering a healing spell, while the other two continued with slow deliberation to beat the man hanging limply from their grasp.  
  
Malfoy straightened, still holding his side, his handsome face twisted with hate as he delivered a forceful kick to Snape's groin. Snape doubled over without a sound. The two Death Eaters let him drop to the floor and watched as he feebly tried to curl up in self defense. The others gathered around him, like jackals surrounding a wounded lion, moving in to kick him, their voices dying into a quiet anticipation of the imminent kill.  
  
Frantically searching the room for inspiration or a miracle, an overturned silver box caught Hermione's attention. Or rather, the small pile of gray dust spilled from it. A desperate plan sprang full blown in her mind, and she seized a pinch, checking first that the small fire still burned in the grate. A grain of the powder flicked in the fire turned it a characteristic green for an active Floo fireplace. She could be gone in seconds, and leave the Death Eaters wondering stupidly where she'd gone.  
  
She switched the wand to her dominant hand and carefully swept up a sizable fistful of powder before turning back to the men doing their best to kill Severus Snape.  
  
She took a deep breath and summoned all her formidable concentration.  
  
"Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Stupefy!"  
  
Snape's wand was awkward in her hand, but the power was there, fueled by her own fear and fury and pain. Avery and Goyle fell to the ground, stunned, and Crabbe was propelled backwards, his wand flying into the air. He crashed against the far wall and slid down, his breath knocked out of him. His own bulk kept him from getting up for a precious few seconds.  
  
Lucius Malfoy turned, still unsteady, his blood-stained robes clutched to his side. His lip curled in contempt as he took in her posture, crouched in front of the fireplace, her torn blouse still hanging open over teeth- bruised breasts, disheveled and beaten. She aimed the wand carefully as he lifted his to deflect her curse and cast his own.  
  
"Acchio Snape!"  
  
Whatever Malfoy had expected, it was not that, and he was knocked aside as Snape's unconscious form obediently hurtled toward her. She tossed the handful of Floo powder at the fire and shouted a destination as Snape's long, bloody form impacted with hers, and they fell together into the fireplace. 


	15. Chapter 15

Chocking, Hermione fought her way out of the green flames, only to realize they were the bedclothes Severus had drawn around them as they'd fallen asleep. Hours ago, judging by the dying fire in the grate, but she paid it no attention as she bolted for the lavatory and was thoroughly sick.  
  
Severus woke with a start as Hermione threw off his encircling arm, and the sounds of her sobs and intermittent heaving drove the sleep away instantly. Concerned, he grabbed her bathrobe from the foot of the bed and then his own bed jacket.  
  
"Lux," he snapped as he passed the sconce on the wall, and the light showed her nude form crouched on the cold tile floor, convulsing into the toilet bowl. At a loss for what to do, he draped the thick fabric over her bare shoulders and pulled her hair back out of the way as she retched helplessly.  
  
When the worst seemed over, he poured a glass of water from the decanter he'd charmed earlier to taste of mint and pressed it into her hands. She'd stopped vomiting, but her continuing sobs worried him greatly. Wetting a towel, Severus gently wiped at the tears and other fluids on her face. She took it from him as her breathing evened out, the heaving gasps slowing out into shuddering breaths. Her arms slid into the sleeves of the robe and she pulled it around her, her hands trembling.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked softly, pushing the stray tendrils of hair away from her face as she leaned weakly against the toilet. "Did you have a nightmare?"  
  
Hermione's eyes widened and focused on him fully for the first time since she'd woken. Before he could formulate another question she seized the lapels of his quilted lounging jacket and pulled them wide. Shaking, her hands ran over the scar on his chest, then another on his ribs. Her palms were cold as they ran over his torso and shoulders, then his neck and face as though assuring herself he was kneeling with her on this hard floor.  
  
"Hermione. Hermione!" He caught her hands with his own. "What's wrong?"  
  
How could you?" Hermione demanded, tears in her eyes. "How could you do that?"  
  
Consternation and dismay flitting across his dark eyes. "You've remembered," he asked, not really a question. His hands dropped.  
  
"I remember. I remember everything. How could you just..." she was unable to find the words. She stared at him, tears spilling over again and running down her cheeks.  
  
"I will leave," he said colorlessly, after a moment, and rose to his feet. Almost mindlessly he groped for his clothing, the sense of loss so tangible he could not bring himself to speak.  
  
"Leave? NO!" She tore after him, grabbing his arms, trying to force him to look at her. "Not until you tell me why you'd let them do that to you! You didn't even try to fight back! You were going to let them kill you! By all that's holy, why?!"  
  
Severus stared at her in shock. It vaguely occurred to him that she was not berating him for what he'd done to her, but what he had not done to save himself.  
  
Why?" he muttered. "Why not? I once promised Albus I wouldn't kill myself. Why would I turn Malfoy down when he offered me such a gift?"  
  
Hermione slapped him with all her furious dismay. "A GIFT?" she shouted. "LIFE is a gift. This baby is a gift! Death is a thief, it only takes away! How can you say that?"  
  
His hands seized her arms and shook her. "Why would you care?" he demanded. "I raped you, I forced a child on you! After all that, you want me to live? Why?"  
  
"Because I'm falling in love with you!" Hermione raged, her fists grabbing handfuls of the fabric of his robe. Her face crumpled as if she'd betrayed a horrible secret.  
  
Speechless, Severus numbly closed his arms around Hermione as she buried her face in his neck. The wetness of her tears was like acid on the bare skin of his chest as he soothed her, his hands gently rubbing her back as Hermione continued to weep helplessly. He had no experience with this, but he could not deny the feel of her in his arms felt right; the bone-deep instinct to protect her was an urge he could not resist. Even so, he was still astonished at her pronouncement. Surely she could not be in earnest. She could not love him.  
  
Slowly she calmed as he held her, although he was becoming uncomfortably aware that neither one of them were entirely covered by their respective robes, especially when she shivered and pressed closer to his body, reminding him he was bare from the thigh down. Her protruding stomach pressed into his own, further necessitating him to stoop over her slight form.  
  
"Come," he told her. Hermione made no more than murmur of protest as he pulled away from her and guided her towards the bed, furtively pulling his bed jacket together. Listlessly scrubbing at her wet face with the cuffs of her bathrobe, she allowed him to put her under the covers. Her feet were icy, prompting Severus to cast a slight warming charm over the bedclothes as she sank back into the pillows and watched him wearily.  
  
I'll be back in a moment," he told her. In the kitchen, a snap of his fingers conjured the house-elf who'd already dealt with the crumbs and dishes from supper. The creature bobbed its head at his request and within moments had a steaming cup of cocoa ready.  
  
He took it back to the bedroom with him and put it in Hermione's hands. "Drink this," he told her. Obediently she sipped at it, and soon the pinched, white cast of her face relaxed as the chocolate and heat began to take effect. Her eyes, however, remained haunted, huge and dark as the rich beverage in her cup.  
  
"You're not leaving, are you?" she asked, as he turned to pull on a pair of sleeping trousers.  
  
"Only if you wish me to."  
  
"Don't," she told him, her voice quavering slightly. "Please?"  
  
Acquiescing, Severus settled on the corner of the bed, one long, lean leg still draped over the edge. "Drink your chocolate," he told her, his tone more brusque than he intended. She nodded and sipped again, but her gaze fell to the ebony wand thrust in the pocket of his robe.  
  
"It survived," she whispered.  
  
Before he could think better of it, Severus pulled the wand from his pocket and offered it to her. Hermione took it gingerly. The wooden shaft felt sturdy and warm in her fingers, and now she understood her earlier fascination with it; she'd used it before.  
  
"You remember my giving it to you?"  
  
She nodded minutely. "I remember everything that happened that night. I remember Malfoy putting the Imperius on you, and how hard you fought it." Silently she handed back the wand and swallowed more of her chocolate. Under the faded coverlet, her legs curled up and she settled deeper into the pillows.  
  
"If you wish to return to Hogwarts in the morning," he offered gruffly, "or later this morning, I should say, I'll escort you back."  
  
Inspecting her cup, Hermione shook her head. "I want to stay with you."  
  
Severus had no answer to that; he could not imagine how she could even stand to be in the same house with him, let alone the same bed. She stirred under the covers and put her half-finished cocoa on the table beside the bed.  
  
"I'm going to the bathroom," she said quietly, and slipped out of the bed. Severus nodded slightly and steeled himself to endure and wait for the inevitable.  
  
In the lavatory, Hermione groped for toothbrush and paste. Her mind was mercifully silent as she cleaned her teeth, mechanically following the training ingrained since early childhood. The mint flavor removed the lingering second-hand taste of her dinner and the sugary coating of the chocolate, while the cold water soothed the last of the burning in her throat. Unfortunately, the running water also reminded her bladder of other needs.  
  
Once that was taken care of, however, she was confronted with the evidence of the evening's previous activities. Her hip joints ached slightly, and the insides of her thighs were sticky with the combined remains of the passion she'd shared with Severus.  
  
Breathing deeply, Hermione cleaned herself quickly and washed her hands. The mirror threw back an image of her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks. She turned away from it, wrapping her arms around herself and willing herself to be calm. The nightmarish recollection of Halloween night loomed up, and to battle it she summoned the memory of strong arms around her shoulders just minutes ago like a protective cloak.  
  
Leaning against the bathroom door, the chill floor pulling the warmth from her feet once more, Hermione concentrated on the last few hours. The feel of Severus Snape's shoulders under her own hands, the taste of his mouth when she kissed him in the kitchen. Block by block and memory by memory she used these more recent images to build a wall against the horrific episode her mind had finally revealed.  
  
The baby chose that moment to begin sporting about, the tiny flutters having become stronger in the last few weeks until Hermione was beginning to wonder just how many extra arms and legs her child had. She ran a soothing hand over her belly, a slight smile coming to her face as she recalled how Severus had been utterly dumbfounded by the movement the one time he'd felt it.  
  
Leaving the bathroom, she was rather startled to see her husband still sitting on the corner of the bed. He had not moved, and he was so motionless she wasn't even sure he was breathing.  
  
"Severus?" she questioned.  
  
He looked at her, and for just an instant the brooding expression on his face flickered, as if he'd expected her to strike him. She had, she remembered. Her palm stung slightly from the slap delivered earlier. The reddened patch on the length of his jaw drew her attention, and she moved forward to touch it gently. He continued to stare at her, as if waiting for some other words to come from her mouth.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she told him. "I didn't mean to hurt you."  
  
His hand captured hers in a breathtaking instant. "You're apologizing to me," he stated with disbelief. "Are you completely mad? You tell me you remember everything I did to you, and now you're sorry you slapped me?" A dry huff of laughter escaped from his chest. "Unbelievable."  
  
Hermione stared into his dark eyes, finally realizing that he was waiting for her to reject him, deny him a place in her life and the marriage they'd just begun. His control was a thin veneer over the renewed guilt and self- loathing she'd first seen in Madame Pomfrey's hidden ward, and she was struck with the sense that she must handle the next few moments carefully or risk loosing any chance she had with this intensely complicated man.  
  
"Severus," she said carefully, putting her other hand to his cheek. "You didn't hurt me of your own accord. We were both victims that night. Because of you, I'm still alive."  
  
He pulled her second hand away as well, but kept his hold on both. "You saved yourself, Hermione. I only gave you the tools."  
  
"We saved each other," she told him. "I'd still be dead if you hadn't helped me. Just like you've helped Harry, and heaven only knows how many others. And I'm very grateful to be alive, regardless of the complications."  
  
"Motherhood at eighteen, and forced to marry the man you peers most despise. Your definitions need revision, I fear." The deep baritone of his voice lacked the usual stinging sarcasm, and Hermione felt sure he was truly listening to her. Another small push, and he just might give in and take her words for the truth. The awareness that this was another one of those defining adult moments bore in on her.  
  
"I've never cared what my peers think. I only care about my own opinion. And for yours."  
  
Still guarded, his gaze flickered across her face as he searched her expression for sincerity. Her heart ached for him, wanting him to believe that he truly had some worth in her estimation. Unable to think of anything else, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his.  
  
Shock kept Severus frozen for several long moments while Hermione pressed herself against him, her hands slipping from his grip and winding around his neck. It had been a very long time since he'd been taken by surprise, yet this young woman continually accomplished this. He levered himself to his feet, taking her in his arms and returned a kiss rapidly growing from absolution to passion.  
  
His breath came in a shuddering gasp as he plundered her mouth. Strong, delicate fingers dug into his hair as her tongue dueled with his, tentative contacts swiftly growing into confident confrontation. Hermione's arms tightened before he could rein in the desire that shot through his body and draw away from her. "I hate this jacket," she muttered as she dragged it off his shoulders and spread her hands over the skin beneath.  
  
A blast of desperate hunger went through him as her mouth left his to nip at the thin skin on his neck. Severus let out a groan and dropped his head to allow her access, intoxicated by the feel of Hermione's lips dragging across his collarbone. Their harsh breathing mingled as he captured her mouth again, crushing her to him in a kiss as violent as it was thorough, with only a small adjustment made to accommodate her waistline.  
  
The bed was suddenly behind her, and Hermione dragged him down as much as he pushed her and they fell together into the tangled covers. Neither of them said a word as she ripped his robe from his arms and he blindly sought to open hers while shoving down the pajama pants. Their bodies merged once more, this time with a fervor that bordered on desperation.  
  
The woman in her recognized the need that drove him and welcomed it with a warm, earthy joy. Hermione locked herself around him, felt his hands fisted into her tangled hair as he moved inside her, bringing her closer to that ecstasy that she had had only once before, but craved again. She felt greedy; greedy for his body and for his pleasure as well as her own, greedy for something she could not name but was certain she'd die if she did not receive it.  
  
With a shout Severus plunged into her, his body shaking, muscles quivering with the strength of his release, and that took Hermione with him into a blissful completion. Moments later, still panting, he pushed himself to one side to take his weight from her body. Muscles in his arm and back burned from the effort of keeping from crushing her, but it had been more than worth it.  
  
Hermione's dismay at his sudden withdrawal was mollified when Severus pulled her to his chest as he lay on his side, their legs still tangled together, both sheened with sweat and not caring. A sheaf of his black hair drifted across her face and she left it there.  
  
Several long minutes passed before he could find the courage to speak. "Did I hurt you?" he asked in a subdued voice, his hand caressing her hip and the bulge between them.  
  
"You could never hurt me," she responded sleepily. As if in confirmation, a hearty bump came from the center of her belly and she pulled his hand to it, lacing her fingers through his.  
  
Severus tried to think of an appropriate response; of course he could hurt her. Had hurt her, raped her, and had just made love to her like a man possessed. Instead, he reached down to the tangled foot of the bed and drew up the covers. The chill of the room had quickly reasserted itself, and he carefully tucked the covers over Hermione's shoulders. She was practically asleep already, and merely opened her eyes a bit to see him arranging things.  
  
Dark brown and honest, her sleepy eyes fairly shimmered with a contentment as alien to him as a feast offered to a drowning man, but the thought occurred that he could fall into their depths and drown forever. At a loss for words, he leaned down and kissed her softly on the mouth.  
  
Hermione only quirked a small smile in response. She was fading fast, but in her heart that tiny, greedy impulse was finally fed, and was satisfied.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
A wash of sunlight across the bed finally brought Hermione to full wakefulness, but the warm, surrounding cocoon of blankets left her loath to move. Instead she snuggled down further until a chuckle finally made her open her eyes. Black chest hair greeted her, and she followed them up to a shoulder, neck, and finally the face of Severus Snape. His fine black hair was a rumpled mess and he had a serious case of five o'clock shadow, but the lazy humor in his eyes was something she had never seen before. The corner of his mouth lifted into an approximation of a smile.  
  
"Are you finally awake?" he teased her, and she managed to nod, a silly smile coming to her own face. "I was beginning to worry."  
  
"Last night rather wore me out," she said lightly, but a shadow flickered across his face and made her regret that she had not been more specific.  
  
"Everything all right?"  
  
"All right," she agreed tentatively. "Let me go..." she nodded towards the bathroom.  
  
In reply, Severus pulled her robe from the tangled covers and handed it over.  
  
Hermione pulled it on, deliberately not making an effort to shield her body from his view. A few minutes later the pressure on her bladder had been relieved and her teeth were clean again. In the mirror, her face looked little different than it ever had, but a large purple spot on her neck testified that she had, indeed, been made love to the night before. Twice. A faint smile refused to leave her mouth and she decided that there was enough to smile about that she should leave it.  
  
"I'm going to take a shower," she called out. "Well, bath then," she amended, looking at the taps. I'll be as quick as I can."  
  
"Breakfast should be ready in a bit," he called back. "Is you digestion up to eggs, or just tea and toast this morning?"  
  
"I'm starved," she called back. "I'll eat whatever you put in front of me."  
  
With the promise of food, Hermione made her ablutions as quickly as possible, then gave her hair a merciless brushing and gathered it at the nape of her neck with a clip. Back in the bedroom, she found the house- elf, whom she still hadn't cornered far enough to even get its name, had made the bed and laid her bag out on the smooth coverlet, her wand still in the outside pocket where she'd left it. A blind grab found one of the robes Severus had bought for her on the day he'd proposed, and she did her best not to be nostalgic as she whisked the wrinkles out of it with a quick charm.  
  
"Good morning," she said as entered the kitchen.  
  
Severus looked up from the paper. "Good morning. Tea, or would you prefer coffee?" he asked as she sat down, his formal tones at odds with his unkempt appearance. He, too, she was inordinately pleased to see, had a mark on his neck.  
  
"Tea, please." Her bubbling good mood was possibly inappropriate, she knew, and would probably irritate him, so she folded her hands and did her best to control herself. She watched his shoulders move under the heavy black silk robe as he poured and handed her a cup. The house-elf popped into view, startling a small 'eep' from her, and it presented her with a plate holding only slightly less food than she'd expect Harry to inhale after an early morning Quidditch practice.  
  
"Thank you..." Hermione told it, drawing out the words in hopes that the elf would supply its name.  
  
"You're welcome, madam," it squeaked and promptly Disapparated.  
  
"Her name is Noggy, and she is part of the Hogwarts kitchen staff," Severus volunteered as he ate a rasher of bacon in quick, precise bites. "And although she's been offered clothes several times, she's quite loyal to Dumbledore and has refused each time. Which is why the Headmaster chose her for the task of looking after us."  
  
"Oh," Hermione replied quietly. A thought occurred to her. "How do you get more house-elves, anyway?"  
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
"Well, I've never seen an immature house-elf. And if you could turn someone into a house-elf, I'd nominate Lucius Malfoy in an instant. I think I could spend several centuries being creative, don't you?"  
  
Severus didn't answer, but the look he gave her under lowered lids gave her his agreement. They ate in silence for several minutes until another thought came out.  
  
"Lucius Malfoy really isn't an idiot when it comes to strategy, is he?"  
  
Severus poured more coffee into his cup. "No, he's not."  
  
"And he's still looking for you, isn't he?"  
  
"Yes," he answered shortly. He waited for her to put it together, knowing the most brilliant student he'd ever taught wouldn't take long to make the connections.  
  
"Once he finds out we're married, he'll assume I know where you are."  
  
"Very likely. But," he interrupted, before she could begin with more questions, "this cottage is Dumbledore's safe house. It's unplottable, and only a few owls can find it. In addition, the Headmaster will be not be sending our marriage parchment to the Ministry until the last day of the holidays. By the time Malfoy find out we're married, you'll be safely back at school and I'll be enjoying the dubious company of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black."  
  
Plucking another strip of bacon from his plate, he added, "Another thing I meant to tell you. If on the odd chance anyone comes here other than Lupin, Black, or Dumbledore, I want you to go into the bedroom and close the door immediately."  
  
"Are you expecting something to happen?"  
  
"No, but there's no harm in being cautious. Many of the Headmaster's operatives know this as a refuge, and he's put up wards that even Voldemort would have trouble breaking. For the same reasons, however, anyone coming here may be followed, and I don't want you to be exposed to any danger."  
  
He watched her slump slightly as she absorbed this news, and felt compelled to add, "By and large, however, we're simply on our honeymoon. With a few precautions, we should be able to carry on as usual."  
  
Hermione perked up immediately. "Then we might get out for a bit?"  
  
"Feeling claustrophobic already?"  
  
"Aren't you?" she challenged. "You've been cooped up far longer than I have. Is it safe for us to go into the village?"  
  
"Perfectly."  
  
"Then I'd like to go for a walk this morning. Preferably sometime after you shave and before you start pacing."  
  
Severus used his napkin on the corners of his mouth and tossed it down. "Point taken," he replied, rubbing a hand over his beard stubble. His eyes fell to her neck, and she knew he was looking at the love-bite on the side of her throat.  
  
"ARE you all right?" he asked. "A stupid question, I'll grant you, but you didn't precisely answer the first time."  
  
"I'm not sure a precise answer is possible," Hermoine said reflectively. You were right - I'm glad I hadn't remembered earlier than I did. On the other hand, it's something of a relief to finally know it all, no matter how traumatic. But to answer your question, I'm fine now. Really."  
  
His dark eyes held hers. "Good," he told her, honesty filling his voice with a warm resonance.  
  
The intimacy of the moment seemed too intense to be shared over eggs and bacon, and Hermione's agile mind quickly shifted gears. "You know what really irritates me about wizards?" she asked, munching on her toast.  
  
"Narrowed it down to one thing, have you?" he asked, sotto voice.  
  
The bubbling delight she'd felt earlier returned with Severus' unique brand of teasing, though she didn't allow it to distract her.  
  
"There's no proper research done. You all go racketing about, assuming that if a spell's worked for years, it must be perfectly safe. Like Dumbledore's Anisthetae. He could likely have taken it off minutes after casting it; it obviously does its job very quickly. Some spells need to be held, obviously, but some just 'poof' and it's done."  
  
"Most of the spells you've learnt at Hogwarts have been used for centuries."  
  
"Have you ever examined a dragon's scale through a microscope? Or run a spectral analysis on a potion?"  
  
"I'm not entirely certain what that is, but I doubt it's necessary," he replied repressively, though a hint of humor lurked beneath the challenge in his voice. "If a millennium of precedent is not sufficient for you, then you are doomed to disappointment."  
  
"And a society that does not evolve is doomed to stagnation and extinction," she returned smoothly. "If I have to drag the entire wizarding world kicking and screaming into the present, I will."  
  
"I've no doubt that you will," he replied. "You may even get me to buy a green neck-cloth some day."  
  
Hermione tilted her head to one side, giving him a frank appraisal, reveling in the right to do just that. "You know, I'd do just about anything to see you in a pair of jeans. I think they'd suit you."  
  
Severus blinked at her, a ferocious scowl growing on his face. "In a pig's eye."  
  
*****  
  
An hour later, Severus held the garden gate open for Hermione and reset the wards once she'd passed through. He immediately set off down the cobbled street, his long legs covering ground quickly. Gamely, Hermione tried to keep up, but quickly fell behind.  
  
"Could you possibly slow down?" she called, puffing slightly. Obligingly, Severus paused to allow her to catch up.  
  
"Pomfrey's right, you are starting to waddle," he remarked, then had the audacity to look affronted when she smacked his arm. "Ow," he exclaimed mildly, though he was less than convincing.  
  
"Oh, stop sniveling."  
  
The corner of his mouth lifted in an almost-grin. "My apologies, Hermione," he told her sincerely. "My eagerness has outstripped my manners."  
  
"So you do have some," she murmured, repaying his earlier comment, and got another of those faint grins in return. Hermione decided she rather adored those and resolved to make them happen as often as possible.  
  
He extended an arm to her and she took it, tucking her hand into the warm crook of his elbow. At a more reasonable stroll they made their way to the center of the small village. Their unhurried pace and casual conversation went unremarked as they joined the other shoppers moving through the main thoroughfare.  
  
For once, Hermione wasn't dragged to the Quidditch shop to exclaim over the latest innovations in equipment; instead they moved without any real discussion to the bookstore. Both of them browsed happily for some time, but neither found anything they could not live without. Zonko's Joke Shop was likewise overlooked without a qualm, though they lingered in front of a shop displaying several men's robes in the window.  
  
"I'm going to burn that bed jacket of yours," Hermione warned Severus.  
  
"Is that right?" he murmured back. "I'll have to put an Ignis Detterrere charm on it. I'm rather fond of it, actually."  
  
"I'll buy you a new one. Green," she added impishly.  
  
"I think not."  
  
As they moved on, the scent of chocolate drifted through the air and drew Hermione to cross the cobbled avenue to Honeydukes. Severus cooperated with the tug on his arm and, once inside, looked around the sweet shop with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"I haven't been in here for years," he commented.  
  
Hermione left him to browse and went directly to the counter where pale rounded chunks of nougat flecked with nuts lay seductively behind the glass display. Mentally calculating the Sickles and Knuts in her coin purse, Hermione had the girl wrap up a quantity of the sticky stuff.  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"Yes, actually. What are those?" she asked, pointing to a bin filled with multi-colored, sugar-coated lengths.  
  
"Awful, aren't they? They're a Muggle treat. We figure the lads will go mad for them. Dead sour, they are."  
  
Giggling, Hermione asked for a handful of the neon Gummi Worms to be bagged as well. A pair of hands settled on her shoulders, surprisingly casual despite the number of people around them.  
  
"Feeling the need for a bean feast?" Severus asked.  
  
"No, I've got that taken care of," she replied, indicating the bag waiting for her. " And I still crave sardines and peanut butter on occasion. I just thought Professor Dumbledore might enjoy these horrid things."  
  
Severus eyes the neon colored worms with distaste. "He'll adore them. What do you think you're doing?" he asked as she held out the requisite number of coins to pay for her purchase. Reaching past her, he deposited several Sickles in the clerk's hand.  
  
"I have it," she protested.  
  
"Hermione, I can provide you pocket money."  
  
"You don't even have a job," she pointed out, tamping down on the instinct to bristle at his old-fashioned attitude. "And I have all the money I didn't spend on clothes."  
  
Snape made a non-committal noise, and put her money back in her purse. "I have more than enough for our honeymoon, Hermione. Keep your Sickles for now, and let me play the indulgent husband." He ignored her snort of disbelief. "I told you, I've a little laid by. If you insist, we can go to Gringotts in London one day next week and go over my bank account. We'll need to go anyway, to get your signature and wand authorized to make withdrawals."  
  
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose we'll need to work out a budget to live on. And I'll need to get used to being Hermione Snape."  
  
A variety of emotions flickered across his face, none long enough to be identified, before he nodded once. "I hope so," he murmured.  
  
Once they'd exhausted the market district, Hermione and Severus walked further on through the village and followed the rough track on the other side of Hogsmeade. The road, if one were both myopic and generous enough to call it that, rose up and over the hills that quickly grew in the distance. After the first time Hermione stumbled, Severus kept a firm grip on her hand, his watchfulness both unobtrusive and unrelenting.  
  
Sneaking a quick glance, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see her new husband was savoring this unexpected ramble. She'd never really thought of him as being the sort of person who enjoyed the outdoors, but Severus's face was creased in a faint smile, a touch of color rising in his face as they climbed the slight incline. She could feel her own face reddening from exertion, and the cloak was becoming uncomfortably warm. The muscles in her back, arched further than normal as they accommodated the change in her balance due to the baby, were beginning to protest as well.  
  
She looked down at the large, square hand holding hers. How odd, to be holding hands with this man, on an outing that was curiously like a first date. They'd never had the opportunity to spend time together, other than the hours spent working together in the lab. A pang of longing hit her suddenly. She very much wanted this difficult, wary man to consider their relationship as something other than a burden or obligation.  
  
Resolving to do whatever she could to further that goal, Hermione paused and took a deep breath.  
  
"May I ask you a question?"  
  
"You may ask me anything, Hermione." Before she could express her skepticism, he added, "However, I reserve the right to refuse certain answers."  
  
She grinned, pulling several windblown strands of hair from her mouth. "Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you why you became a Death Eater, or why you turned to the Order. It's none of my business."  
  
"It is your business," he replied stoically. "You're my wife."  
  
"Then you'll tell me when you're ready," she responded, choosing discretion over curiosity. Some topics were obviously too tender to be probed, and their relationship was still fragile. "Your parents. Tell me about them."  
  
Severus examined the far side of the valley, his black hair wavering around his face as the spring winds flirted with them both. They had paused at the summit of the hill, and Hermione sank down on a nearby boulder with relief. "My father was English, and I'm unhappy to say a good deal like Lucius Malfoy. The only difference being I once had a friendly relationship with that gentleman. I cannot say the same about my father." His eyes narrowed, but his voice remained silky and detached. "There's a great deal I COULD say about that particular individual, but I was raised not to speak ill of the dead."  
  
"Ah," said Hermione, understanding a great deal anyway.  
  
"My mother, however, is still alive, and currently lives in Naples."  
  
"Really? Is it true what they say about Neopolitans?" Hermione had read somewhere that that particular region of Italy was known for being free- spirited and vivacious. From his comment regarding the nationality of his father, she assumed his mother was Italian. This assumption was immediately disproved with his next statement.  
  
"My mother isn't a native, but being a full-blooded Rom she is quite at home."  
  
"A Rom?" Hermione echoed. "You mean a Romany gypsy?"  
  
She gaped at him, dumbstruck, and suddenly saw her husband in a new light - the dark hair, large nose, black eyes and sallow skin already darkening in the bright spring sunlight. He grinned at her, for once a full-on expression of enjoyment of her reaction.  
  
"Well, I didn't mean a bloody Pikey, Hermione. My mother was born in a Romany caravan somewhere south of Russia. My father discovered her in 1943, I believe."  
  
The irony in his voice warned her the match had not been happy, but then she knew that already. "Did she not have a choice?" Hermione asked carefully.  
  
"Considering she was in a boxcar on her way to a concentration camp without a wand, I'd say not. He saved her life, and expected her to be grateful and obedient."  
  
"And I'm sure that went over well."  
  
That partial grin surfaced again. "Not exactly. I inherited my temper from both my parents, though Augustus was given to cold silences and my mother throws things. She's quite accurate - broke his nose for him once."  
  
And then you became like him," Hermione said, then instantly wished she hadn't. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't make generalizations."  
  
"Don't be," he told her. "I've told myself I acted like him because I thought it would make him approve of me. In truth, I was probably destined to be like that regardless of whether he approved of me or not. Either way, this is how I am, and I'm too old for extensive self analysis now."  
  
"What was he like?" Hermione pressed, obliquely curious if Severus saw himself as others did.  
  
"He was a cold man, a stickler for the rules and what is and is not accepted in society. I was expected to live up to those rules, even the ones my mother thought complete nonsense. If you thought Percy Weasley was a royal pain, you should have seen me. I lived the Hogwarts code of conduct as though they were the secret to immortal life."  
  
Hermione smothered a giggle. "Sounds like me, my first year. I'd just found out I was a witch, and I wanted to fit in so much. It was just horrible, up until I became friends with Ron and Harry after the troll incident in the girl's bathroom." She gave him a speculative look. "Is that why Filch kisses up to you so much?"  
  
Watch it," he warned her. "And I hardly call Potter and Weasley a good influence."  
  
"They've taught me that some things are more important than following the rules. Like friends you can count on, no matter what."  
  
Severus made no answer to that, and Hermione tilted her head to one side, considering his profile. "Are we friends?" she asked.  
  
"We're married, Hermione. There are some that consider those two relationships mutually exclusive."  
  
"I think Malfoy is an adequate substitute for a troll." She brushed another strand of hair from her face. "I'd like to think we can be friends."  
  
"I will bow to your greater experience," he replied gently.  
  
For a moment Severus wondered if James Potter might have become a friend if things had been different, but dismissed the thought. He was not one to waste time on might-have-beens. He had what could be in front of him, smiling faintly with the pleasure of his company and the offer of his friendship. Somewhere, he was sure, Fate was having a hearty chortle with Albus Dumbledore. 


	16. Chapter 16

Noggy the house-elf had a simple luncheon waiting when they returned from their ramble. Afterwards, Severus suggested Hermione lie down for a rest, insisting her health was more important than her studies.  
  
"That sounds suspiciously like heresy, Professor," she replied cheekily. Intending to humor him, Hermione curled up on the bed with the worn quilt over her shoulders, fully expecting to get up within a half-hour and start on her homework. She woke two hours later, her eyes gritty but feeling marvelous.  
  
Not comfortable with spreading her work on Dumbledore's desk, Hermione instead appropriated the formal table in the small dining room. Severus watched with some amusement as her books and papers gradually obscured the entire surface. Intending to allow her to work undisturbed, Severus browsed the Headmaster's shelves in his study and found a battered alchemy text. He settled into an armchair that coincidentally gave him a view through the wide doorway to the dining room and relaxed, flipping through the pages as he searched for the odd, interesting tidbits that complemented his own expertise. Once or twice he read them aloud to Hermione, who, rather than being bored, asked for more details before reapplying herself to her own books.  
  
Observing Hermione as she methodically covered sheets of parchment in her round, efficient writing, Severus found himself spending more time contemplating his wife than looking through the book in his lap. Her hair was doing its best to escape the clip at the nape of her neck, springing free to frame her cheekbones with wavy streaks of dark honey. A frown of concentration came and went as she focused on the work before her, shifting books and muttering under her breath.  
  
Bloody amazing, he thought, that such a remarkable young woman should be willing to marry a man such as himself. The few women he'd ever considered even attempting a permanent relationship with had been moderately intelligent, but he could not think of one who would have been even remotely interested in the morsels of obscure but fascinating information he'd found in the old textbook. Just as none of them would have had the strength to survive the assault Hermione had endured on Halloween, or the fortitude to save them both.  
  
During the walk back to Dumbledore's cottage, Hermione and Severus had continued to discuss a wide range of topics, both profound and trivial. When he asked, she had related the details on their escape from Malfoy's hunting lodge. Severus himself had lost consciousness before Hermione freed herself that night, and possessed no memory of their escape from Malfoy's hunting. And although she attached no great importance to the fact that she'd saved his life along with hers, Severus certainly did. As a matter of fact, he was beginning to consider everything about Hermione as important.  
  
*****  
  
Later that evening, when Severus asked if she were ready for bed, Hermione was unaccountably overcome with shyness. Murmuring something vaguely affirmative, she preceded him to the bedroom and did her best to remain unflustered as he began to undress. Cleaning her teeth was a good excuse to disappear into the bathroom at that exact moment, and Hermione announced her intentions with her back turned to a partially nude Severus. She didn't come out until she heard the bedsprings creak.  
  
When she came out of the bathroom, the room was dark other than the candles on either side of the bed and the faint red glow from the fireplace. Severus lay against the pillows, one arm behind his head. When he saw the long nightgown, his expression did not flicker in the slightest. He merely focused on the far wall and waited for her to get into bed.  
  
He's disappointed, Hermione thought. And even though he was disappointed, she could also sense he had no intention of pushing the issue. The thought that he would consider her wishes before his own made Hermione feel curiously cherished.  
  
Climbing under the covers, she rolled somewhat cumbersomely to her side and studied his profile. The golden light from the candles softened his harsh features, though it highlighted the diamond-shaped bump on his nose and his high cheekbones, and she wondered briefly what lines in his face would not have appeared if he hadn't taken the lonely, disastrous course he had.  
  
"What?" he finally asked as her staring continued.  
  
Hermione smiled, amused both by his irritation and by the fact that she was no longer intimidated by it.  
  
"This is all rather new to me," she told him. "I'm in bed with a naked man." She'd caught a glimpse of his bare hip as she'd pulled the covers up. "Can't say that happened a lot."  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched. "As your husband, I should approve. Can't have you romping about with naked men."  
  
"Would you believe I've never even seen a naked man before? Let alone had full run of one?"  
  
"Really?" he murmured, turning towards her, a subtle gleam appearing in his ebony eyes. Before she could ask what he meant by that, he leaned closer and brushed several light, teasing kisses across her lower lip.  
  
Just as Hermione was deciding she rather enjoyed being kissed by this taciturn man and finding the passion hidden under his stalwart surface, he rolled away and lay on his back once more. With slow deliberation he pushed the blankets down his torso. A deft kick flipped them off the rest of him.  
  
His entire body lay exposed, lean and nearly as pale as the white sheets on which he lay, with various scars marking his arms and chest. The remains of one cruel, ragged gash crossed over his hipbone. Crossing his ankles casually, he put one arm behind his head again and lay back, inviting her to explore.  
  
Hermione swallowed the sudden dryness in her mouth and took a deep breath. Watching his face instead of the long male form stretched before her, she could just make out the slight tension in the skin around his eyes and the absolute stillness in which he lay, regardless of the relaxed posture. Remembering the wariness in his reaction the first time she'd reached out to touch him, Hermione came to the conclusion Severus was testing himself as well as her.  
  
The difference between being pressured and being challenged was a subtle but highly important distinction, and one thing Hermione had always loved was a challenge. Methodical as ever, she began with his hands.  
  
They were large and square, with close-trimmed nails and heavily calloused. Someone as tall and thin as Severus should have had spidery hands, but his were square and solid, belying the delicate control and sensitivity of his long fingers. She did not linger over the Dark Mark that lay like the gray shadow of an old burn on the inside of his left arm, but went on to stroke the thin skin inside his elbow and the texture of the veins. Her hands ran over his arms and shoulders, feeling the wiry muscles that had returned after his long convalescence.  
  
Shifting closer to the head of the bed, Hermione traced his aquiline features. The dark fire in his eyes disappeared only in the moments when he blinked as her fingertips skimmed across his black eyebrows and the vertical slash between his brows. His lips parted as if he would say something, and though no sounds emerged, she could feel the tension in him changing from apprehension to anticipation.  
  
Hermione extended her exploration to that part of him, kissing him lightly and repeatedly until his mouth opened under hers. As he granted her access, she deepened her attentions enough to discover a chip on one of his teeth. The heavy shadow of his beard growth was rough under her fingers, and even rougher against her lips as she kissed her way over his jaw and inspected his Adam's apple and the smooth skin over his collarbones.  
  
Growing bolder, she toyed with the sparse hair across his chest like fine wisps of silk thread. He made a small noise as her palms skimmed over his flat nipples, and another as she tasted one and made it peak under her tongue. He was, she also found when he jumped slightly, ticklish over his ribs.  
  
Severus' hands went to fists as she followed the black trace of hair down his abdomen to his navel. Hermione smiled at his groan as she passed over the obvious and moved on to press a gentle kiss to the jagged scar on his hipbone. The journey of discovery continued down his long, lean thighs, somewhat bony shins and sharp ankles. His feet were just as she remembered from the Handfasting ceremony, though she hadn't realized he had fine black hairs on the tops of his feet.  
  
He was aching and upright when she at last maneuvered herself between his legs. The first position she tried proved awkward with her gravid belly in the way, so she wiggled until she could hover over him on her hands and knees. She inspected his arrousal, deliberately letting her hair drift over his thighs as she stroked his skin, intrigued by the reactions she induced. With gentle fingers she learned the heat and velvety textures, noticing as she did that Severus had closed his eyes, his unshaven chin pointing to the ceiling as he kept a firm hold on the edges of the mattress and his own self control.  
  
Hermione wondered what it would take to make Severus lose that legendary composure, and decided to find out. One did not share quarters with Lavender Brown for six years without learning a thing or two, and she made a few plans even as she leaned forward.  
  
A single gasp came out when her mouth descended on him but otherwise Severus remained silent, although his back arched, his heels dug into the mattress and the corded muscle on his arms stood out as she continued. Entranced by the power she wielded, a rush of arrousal and power washed over her as her husband writhed under her touch. Yet even in the heat of the moment she was delighted by his surrender, awed by the trust he showed by submitting to her ministrations.  
  
One thing only remained, and breathlessly she urged him to give in to that as well.  
  
"Let it go, Severus," she begged him. "Let me." Seconds later, under her redoubled efforts, his hands left their white-knuckled hold to tangle in her hair as he shuddered and came with a shout.  
  
When Severus could think clearly again, he looked up at the smug look on his wife's face and laughed openly for the first time in their entire acquaintance. Pulling her down on his chest, he wrapped his long arms around her and kissed her thoroughly.  
  
"Make one joke about being Head Girl," she warned him as she made herself comfortable within the circle of his arm and tucked her head under his chin.  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied. "Just as I'm not going to ask where you learned that particular skill."  
  
"Natural talent and second-hand research only," she told him archly. "My resources tell me you're supposed to swallow, but that's just disgusting."  
  
"Hmm. If Miss Brown's reality is half her reputation, you've learned from the best."  
  
Hermione gave his chest a half-hearted smack. "Lavender's reputation is exaggerated. She's only ever loved Seamus Finnegan."  
  
"I'll take your word for it." He took a deep breath. "Thank you. That was wonderful."  
  
"You're welcome," she murmured, sliding her arm across his torso. There was something alluring about the feel of his skin under her cheek and the short, crisp hairs under her palm. As her thumb passed over one nipple, her fingers grazing the slight definition of his pectoral muscle, his own hand flattened on top of hers and stilled her movement.  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
"Umm?"  
  
"Are you familiar with the concept of libramentum?"  
  
She sighed into his skin. "A potion that's been brought into balance, the acid or alkaline adjusted. Third year stuff."  
  
"Hmm. What about quid pro quo?"  
  
"This for that," she answered, eyes still closed, feeling warm and just a little sleepy.  
  
"How about. sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander?"  
  
The sleepiness disappeared instantly as Hermione's eyes flew open. Craning her neck up, she could make out the heat in Severus' eyes. His black hair hung in untidy clumps around his face, and it occurred to her that it was trying to curl. The preparation he used on it must be intended to keep the fine silk of his hair from going insane in the heat and humidity of his classroom.  
  
You're the one who's absolutely insane, Hermione told herself. The man wants to do THAT to you, and you're thinking about his hair?  
  
His expression changed, and when he opened his mouth she was sure it was to tell her it was all right that she didn't want him to reciprocate. With a lunge she reached his mouth before a sound came out.  
  
Despite her passive pose as she lay back and allowed Severus to do as he willed, Hermione felt much more involved in this act of lovemaking than she had the night before. That had been an overwhelming rush of passion that had swept them both along to conclusion. By contrast, this was active partnership, relaxing under his touch, responding to his mouth and hands and half-whispered comments. She also felt a great deal of astonishment as she realized her own inability to stay silent under the sensual onslaught.  
  
She barely recognized her own voice as she gasped and pleaded, crying out in ecstasy as he teased and learned her own secrets, ones she herself had never discovered. At last he relented and moved up from between her thighs, covering her body with his own as he filled her once more. The last vestige of her modesty disappeared in the face of burning need, her nails digging into his biceps, her sharp heels hooked around his calves as she pulled him into herself.  
  
*****  
  
Although a morning walk had quickly become a habit, Hermione and Severus skipped it a few days later and instead Apparated to London. The Leaky Cauldron's back entrance let them enter Diagon Alley and they casually walked through the morning shoppers much as they had two months earlier.  
  
Nervously arm in arm with Severus, Hermione carefully kept her cloak around her body with the hood up in case anyone from Hogwarts should see them together. The last thing they needed was wild rumors about her pregnancy swirling around when term began again. Careful plans had already been laid for that revelation, and it would not do to have it prematurely revealed.  
  
They made it to Gringotts without seeing anyone, however, and entered the goblin's domain without incident. The sullen goblin behind the counter presented Hermione with a ledger where she signed with the name Hermione Snape for the first time, using a purple ink that turned green on the page. The goblin then took her wand from her and weighed it on a small golden scale. The other side of the scale had only a crystal disk instead of the standard brass bowl, but it swiftly bobbed into equilibrium. Peering at the scale, the goblin scribbled down some notation and then handed back the wand with a rude 'good day' before turning away and dismissing them entirely.  
  
Casually Severus offered to take Hermione down to his vault to check the balance on his account, but after a moment spent contemplating the stomach- wrenching ride involved, she decided against it. Instead she proposed they wait until school was finished to worry about money, to which Severus agreed with somewhat suspicious speed. He did ask her to accompany him to the small alchemist's shop where she'd fainted during their last trip. The sharp-eyed alchemist remembered them, asked after the experiments Severus had discussed during their first visit, and when their recent marriage was revealed, made so bold as to wish them joy.  
  
As though he was afraid Hermione would faint on him again, Severus kept one hand under Hermione's elbow as he shepherded her back to the Leaky Cauldron. Even though it was still early, he led Hermione to a small table and announced his intention of getting her something to eat. Behind the bar, the toothless landlord Tom nodded at Severus' imperious motion for service as he pulled out a chair out for Hermione before taking a seat just opposite.  
  
Beginning to chafe under his protective attitude, Hermione shrugged off her cloak and agreed to tea and a small snack. Severus seemed a bit distant, no doubt remembering the last time they'd been in the establishment, and Hermione felt a flicker of guilt for her behavior at that time. His severe demeanor was reinforced by the black frock coat and neck cloth he habitually wore, reminding her of his worst Potions Master disposition.  
  
With some trepidation, Hermione leaned forward and addressed her husband of three days.  
  
"May I ask you a question?"  
  
"Hermione," he began with mild asperity, "in the nearly seven years I have known you, nothing short of being petrified by a basilisk has ever stopped you from asking a question. If we're to spend a significant portion of our lives in each other's company, it would save a great deal of time if you'd simply ask the question to begin with."  
  
The mild irritation she'd felt earlier flared to full life. "Fine," Hermione told him, in a voice that said the gloves were off. "Why are you such a bastard to your students?"  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched in appreciation for her directness. "Several reasons," he replied frankly. "Firstly, I detest teaching those who don't wish to learn. It's a waste of my time and abilities, although, if you'd have noticed, both Professors McGonagall and Flitwick are vastly over-qualified for their positions as well. Hogwarts is an excellent school, but you'll never find another with such a skilled and exceptional staff." He paused while a teapot and a selection of cakes and other assorted treats were presented. When they both had a cup of tea and a plate in front of them, he continued.  
  
"Secondly, I had a reputation to uphold as a Death Eater on Dumbledore's leash. It allowed me to hold a position over the largest contingent of students whose parents were likely to be supporters of Voldemort. By favoring my Slytherins and being vile to the others, I presented not only an example of the worst sort of favoritism the rest of them could expect when they're introduced to adult life, but had the added benefit of giving the junior Death Eaters a nasty shock when they join the fold and realized they were actually expected to look after themselves."  
  
"You enjoy it, don't you," Hermione accused, though her amusement was evident. "Playing the tyrant, scaring the wits out of your students."  
  
"Perhaps," he hedged modestly. "Those few who had wits. And use the past tense, if you please. My most fervent dream is to never step foot in a classroom again. But for the third reason, let me ask you a question. Do you realize that Durmstang is the only other major wizarding school which employs a Potions Master?"  
  
Hermione shook her head.  
  
"Beauxbatons and The Salem Academy in the Americas, on average, have two students each school year who are severely injured in the Potions classroom. Salem is considering changing their curriculae to leave the more advanced potions until their students are older. In my classes, however," he continued with sadistic pride, "students who were scared to death of me seldom had the audacity to act up in my class, and they jolly well learnt what I taught them."  
  
Hermione smirked at his self-assurance, remembering what she and Ron and Harry had gotten up to.  
  
"If I remember correctly," he said, his baritone turning sharp, "it was a simple enlarging potion you sabotaged. Tell me, would you attempt such a thing now that you're older, into more elaborate and dangerous potions?"  
  
"Gods, no. If the potion didn't kill us, you would."  
  
"Better me than the potion. Anything I ever did to those brats involved detentions and copious lashings of sarcasm. But let the little monsters bollocks up some of the more dangerous potions, and lives could be lost."  
  
He regarded her with a satisfied expression, then narrowed his eyes. "That's not the question you were going to ask, is it?"  
  
"No, actually," Hermione admitted freely. "But since you're being so damned honest, I'm not letting you off the hook now. Tell me why you dislike Harry? Was it because of his father?"  
  
"No," Severus replied with a sigh. "Although I despised his father, I don't dislike Harry Potter. I distrust him. There's a difference."  
  
"Not trust him? Why ever not?"  
  
"When I learned how the Dursleys had raised the boy, I don't think I've ever been more apprehensive in my life," Severus began slowly. "A boy going from a life of repression and unhappiness to a world where he would be petted and adored by all. James Potter was exceptionally powerful, and Lily was not to be underestimated," Severus continued brusquely. "The temptation for Harry to abuse both his power and his position was a very real consideration."  
  
"Harry would never do that," Hermione protested. "He hates the publicity and the people who stare at his scar and everything that goes with it."  
  
"Perhaps," Severus allowed. "But... it would not be the first time a student, overly indulged by teachers who thought him brilliant, came to a bad end because imagined himself superior to his peers."  
  
With a start, Hermione understood Severus was speaking of himself. Impulsively she reached out and took his hand, squeezing his fingers tightly. "Harry's not like that," she told him, speaking both about her best friend and the man before her. "He's a good, honest, honorable person. The only thing Harry truly wants is a family. You can see it in his eyes, sometimes, especially when he's around the Weasleys. They all love him like a brother."  
  
"With the possible exception of Virginia Weasley," he observed in a dry tone. "There's no doubt in what light she considers that young man.  
  
"Now then," Severus told her, the humor restored to his expression. "Why don't you tell me what you were really going to ask."  
  
"I was going to ask you if you'd noticed Tom was acting a bit strange. He's been staring at us from the bar and whispering to people ever since we came in. Probably talking about the flaming row we had last time."  
  
"He's taking bets," Severus replied casually. "And it wasn't a row. I doubt it even qualified as a spat." His fingers tightened, reminding her they were still holding hands on top of the battered wooden table. "One thing I have always appreciated about you, Hermione, if not exactly admired, is that you give as good as you get. It's something we'll no doubt see more of, given our respective temperaments."  
  
"He's betting on whether or not we're going to argue again, isn't he?" she asked, oddly heartened by the simultaneous compliment and insult.  
  
"Most likely."  
  
"Are we?" she asked, eyes sparkling at the temptation to make a deliberate scene.  
  
"Actually, I was thinking of breaking the pot for him," Severus admitted. "Imagine how the odds would skew if I kissed you instead."  
  
A warmth suffused Hermione's body. Despite the passion they shared in bed and the ring on her finger, Severus continued to treat her with a civil, polite manner during their daylight hours together, something she found rather frustrating at times. Not she'd been all that forward herself.  
  
"I wouldn't mind that," Hermione told him. "Actually, I'd like it very much. I wasn't sure you cared for it, really."  
  
Severus watched the hint of pink appear in her cheeks. "You're very much mistaken, Miss Granger. I do, indeed, care for it. Really." he emphasized the last word quite heavily.  
  
Astonishment and anticipation vied with each other as Hermione took in the highly unusual sight of Severus Snape actually flirting with her. Ron and Harry would have died on the spot, but she dismissed her friends from her thoughts as a sensual smile grew on her lips. "I'm not Miss Granger any longer. Remember?"  
  
"I tend to forget a great many things, lately," he returned smoothly. "Especially when I'm about to kiss you."  
  
Hermione could feel the blush intensifying on her cheeks. ~Ten points for Slytherin, Professor,~ she thought, ~and could you possibly teach a class on this?~  
  
"Are you finished?"  
  
She nodded, and when he held out his hand, she took it and allowed him to assist her up out of the chair. He did not relinquish his grip, but pulled her closer. "Ready?" he whispered, devilish amusement lingering in his voice, his eyes carefully not falling on the huddle of wizards and witches shooting furtive glances their way. Hermione nodded again, and lifted her mouth slightly to meet his.  
  
What she'd expected to be a casual buss quickly deepened, and her eyes drifted shut on the sensual tide of his mouth moving over hers. Warm and seeking, the kiss intensified until, when they came up for air at last, she was clinging to his coat, breathing unsteadily, and Severus himself looked slightly dazed.  
  
"Home?" he questioned.  
  
"Oh, I think so," Hermione agreed. Neither one bothered to see who received what pay out at the bar.  
  
*****  
  
Afterwards, Severus had the nerve to insist Hermione should remain in bed, since she needed all the rest she could get.  
  
"Your NEWTS will be exactly seven weeks away when you return to school," he reminded her. "And I hold more hope of being awarded an Order of Merlin than I do of you taking proper care of yourself." His stern admonishment might have been taken more seriously if he'd been wearing more clothing, however.  
  
Hermione propped herself up on the pillows and applied her appetite to the sliced fruit on the plate Severus had brought her. If Noggy thought anything odd about her charges taking their lunch to the bedroom, the elf in question did not put in an appearance to protest, and together they began to put a serious dent in the food nicked from the kitchen.  
  
"I have a reputation to uphold," she reminded him, though he was correct in his assumption that the final stretch of school would be grueling for someone as studious as herself.  
  
"Your reputation will be changing radically once word of this gets out," he told her, stroking her bare stomach reverently. The six-month fetus inside responded by kicking energetically, and he paused, a rare smile erupting as he detected the slight movement.  
  
"I meant as Head Girl. I absolutely have to score better than Draco Malfoy or Pansy Parkinson. Or else," she finished with a glower.  
  
"You will, I'm sure. Especially Parkinson. Mr. Malfoy might actually have a chance to score well, but he'll need to study very hard indeed to get his marks anywhere near yours."  
  
"Did you just complement me on my schoolwork?" Hermione queried, with a touch of disbelief.  
  
"You'll never prove it," Severus warned her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry. Your marks have been for the most part the highest in Hogwarts history. You've even beaten some of mine."  
  
"And all this time you've acted as though I were pond scum walking upright," she said with mock severity. "I hope you enjoy the taste of crow, because you're eating some right now."  
  
Severus' face fell into uncompromising blankness. As it so often happened, Hermione knew she had somehow floundered into the unseen depths of the relationship between them, stepping blindly into some morass of hidden meaning behind her innocuous words.  
  
"What is it?" she asked gently, having little hope he'd actually tell her. To her surprise, he put the remains of his meal down and pushed the plate to one side.  
  
"You're Muggle born, Hermione, and yet you are without a doubt the most brilliant student I've ever taught. You are everything that disproves what Malfoy and his merry band of murderers profess. It terrifies me, sometimes."  
  
"That I'm smart?" she asked, voice quavering.  
  
"No, never that. Thinking about how much of a threat you are to them. Just your existence proves how wrong their beliefs are."  
  
"That's.that's why he wanted to kill me, isn't it?" Hermione ventured. "That's why he did that to me."  
  
"Malfoy always has more than one iron in the fire when he's up to something, but yes," Severus admitted heavily.  
  
"Is that why you intervened?" she asked quietly. "Because you thought I was a symbol? Because I'm smarter than Pansy Parkinson? Or Hannah Abbot?"  
  
Heaving a heavy sigh, Severus rolled onto his back and stared pensively at the ceiling. "Hermione... If it had been anyone else lying there, I'd have made some protest on the stupidity of pulling Dumbledore's beard, but I would not have made any further effort to stop it. I'd have stood by and watched them rape and destroy one of my students and when her body was found, I'd have signed my name to the staff condolence card without a second thought."  
  
Hermione was nearly speechless. "I don't believe you. I'm no different from any other student at Hogwarts."  
  
"Of course you are, you foolish girl," he snapped, and then rolled and pinned her with a dark stare. "You knew, Hermione. You lay there on that filthy floor and stared up at me and you could have betrayed me with a few words -- bargained for your life and destroy me utterly. But you didn't. You would have died without telling them."  
  
"Maybe you should have let me die," she said recklessly.  
  
Don't say that!" he hissed furiously, his hand shooting out to grasp her arm.  
  
"How many people have died since you lost your place in the Death Eaters?" she pressed. "How many people could have been saved if you still were in Voldemort's confidence?"  
  
"It doesn't matter, Hermione."  
  
"It does matter. You stabbed Lucius Malfoy. You could have killed him."  
  
"That was the intention," he said flatly, and she was reminded of how dangerous her husband could be, his deep voice all the more menacing here in the ravaged tableau of their bed. Instead of fear, though, her outrage stiffened her spine and her resolve to have this out with him.  
  
"And then you would have let them kick you to death, because you thought you deserved nothing more. Well, I'm telling you that you do deserve more."  
  
His silence irritated her, and she rolled her awkward body close enough to touch him. "I want to ask you something," she began, and when he raised a disbelieving eyebrow, snapped, "Oh, shut up. Were you in love with Lily Evans?" The jealous suitor had been a favorite theory Ron and Hermione had cooked up but never dared share with Harry.  
  
To her surprise, Severus chuckled. "No," he answered. "It wouldn't have been difficult to fall in love with her, but I had more sense. I also no more patience with her clownish friends that I have for yours. Little patience for anyone, for that matter," he added.  
  
"Have you ever loved anyone?" She turned to look at him. "I'm not asking that just to be bitchy. I honestly want to know. Have you ever allowed yourself to love anyone?"  
  
His eyes turned dark with sorrow and regret, wary of her reaction. It was his turn to be surprised, however, as Hermione showed no signs of being hurt by his inability to profess an emotion he had no familiarity with.  
  
"I understand that you don't love me, Severus," she told him patiently. His eyes flicked away from her face, but she didn't stop. "And while I never expected to get married and have a baby right away, it's what I've got. And I certainly never expected to find myself falling in love with you, but I meant it on our wedding night and I mean it now. I am falling in love with you."  
  
"I think," he began carefully, "that you've allowed yourself to exaggerate whatever regard you might have for me. It would be far wiser for you to.not become attached to me."  
  
Too bad," she retorted. "This isn't a mini-break shagfest."  
  
Severus blinked in disbelief. "A what?"  
  
"My cousin Lucy," Hermione explained with a sigh. "She goes through men like Professor Dumbledore goes through lemon drops, and she always breaks up with them right after a three-day mini-break. She calls them shagfests. But that's not us," she insisted.  
  
"Hermione," he groaned in a low voice, but she placed her fingers over his lips to forestall whatever he was about to say, determined to finish what she'd been thinking for several days.  
  
"There was a priest at my primary school," Hermione told him, "who once told me that forgiveness wasn't given because it was earned, or deserved, but because someone needed it."  
  
Severus' eyelids lowered, shuttering out all subjects of forgiveness for sins past, but that wasn't Hermione's point. "I love you," she continued, "not because you deserve it, or you've earned it, because, really, we don't actually know each other all that well. But I love you, because you need it. I'm not asking you for anything, Severus, and you don't have to say anything. Just accept it."  
  
For several long, anxious minutes, Severus Snape remained silent, though his eyes searched her face for heaven only knew what, his expression flickering through a kaleidoscope of emotions, each replaced by another before Hermione could tell what he was thinking. At long last the tension slowly bled from his body. With gentle formality he reached for Hermione's hand, capturing her fingers in his own and pressed a kiss into her palm.  
  
*****  
  
One morning, just as Hermione was beginning to lose track of the days of the week, Severus showed her a slip of parchment from Dumbledore. Noggy had delivered it early that morning and, miffed at being used as an owl, had burned every single piece of toast on the breakfast table.  
  
"Your parents are expecting us this afternoon," he related in a lowering tone. "The Headmaster has it all arranged."  
  
"It's Wednesday, isn't it," Hermione replied absently as she looked over the short note. "They usually work half-days on Wednesday and Saturday."  
  
She appeared resigned, but became more and more unsettled as the day wore on. "Do we truly have to go visit them?" she groused some hours later, wearing nothing but her underwear whilst staring at the clothes hanging in the press. She was absolutely dreading this meeting, and Severus gave her a stern look.  
  
"I have faced the Cruciatus Curse, Hermione. I somehow doubt a pair of dentists from Surrey can be any worse."  
  
"They're going to scold me, and make me feel like a child."  
  
"Parents always treat their offspring like children, regardless of how old they are. The last time I spoke to my mother, she insisted I wear my galoshes and a sweater so I wouldn't catch cold."  
  
"How old were you?"  
  
"It was eight months ago," he enunciated through clenched teeth.  
  
"Can I meet your mother some day?" she asked innocently.  
  
He gave her a long, considering look. "No. The both of you harping at me would be unbearable."  
  
"You're no fun," she sighed, and pulled out the one Muggle maternity dress she'd bought on their foray into London. "I can't wear this," Hermione declared, holding the Muggle dress against herself. It was a pale yellow, and did nothing for her hair or coloring. She scowled at her reflection, daring the mirror to say a thing. It was, mercifully, a non-enchanted mirror and remained silent.  
  
"They want to see you, not your wardrobe," Severus told her, sensing a hormone-fueled disagreement in his future. "You'll look fine," he promised.  
  
"I look like Buddha," she retorted sharply, pulling the fabric against her stomach.  
  
"Hermione," he stressed, putting the most patient tone he had into his voice. "You're lovely, no matter what you wear."  
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed at him in the mirror. "Do they teach you to lie convincingly in Slytherin House, or is it an innate ability?"  
  
He caught her in his arms and kissed her shoulder next to her bra strap. "You have no idea, do you?" he murmured.  
  
"Of what?"  
  
"How very enticing you are." She snorted, but didn't object when he moved his lips behind her ear and tasted the skin at her hairline. "All of you, Hermione. Your mind, your body, your hair..."  
  
"My hair," she laughed in disbelief.  
  
"Your skin...Gods above, Hermione. Your skin...I swear it's addictive." He was nipping the tender curve of her neck, lavishing open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder, his tongue tasting her and causing deep waves of longing to go through her.  
  
"It's just pheromones, Severus," she breathed, having trouble remembering what she was saying as his hands tugged the dress from her grip and his long fingers splayed across her round stomach, pulling her back against his hips. "My body's a tanker factory of chemicals." Scowling at her round potbelly, Hermione pulled the waistband of the enormous, horrid panties up another inch. "Literally."  
  
A non-committal grunt was her only answer, though his hands pulled the waistband out of her grip and pushed it down onto her hips and then lower.  
  
"We'll be late," she gasped, even as his fingers slid between her thighs.  
  
"That's what magic is for," he assured her, just before he picked her up and carried her to the bed, where he shoved his own clothing out of the way and laid her down.  
  
*****  
  
With a 'pop' two figures appeared on the front stoop of Frank and Cecilia's townhouse.  
  
"We're only two minutes late," Hermione announced, her cheeks still delightfully flushed and contrasting well with the colorful silk scarf Severus had conjured and tied around her neck at the last minute. It covered almost all of the purple marks he'd inflicted.  
  
Snape unwrapped Hermione from his embrace and checked up and down the street to be sure they had not been seen appearing out of thin air. The early afternoon sunlight glinted off the autos parked on the street, and he stifled his reaction to the ugly conveyances. It would not do to meet his in-laws with a sneer, however, and he carefully schooled his features to a milder expression. Hermione caught his face, though, and gave him a thoughtful look.  
  
"You know, one good dose of Severus Snape the Potions Professor should send them running. Then we could leave right away."  
  
"I'll behave myself, if you will," he retorted with a raised eyebrow, then took her hand and resolutely rang the bell.  
  
The Grangers must have been waiting for them, for the door was swiftly opened, and a pleasant faced, middle-aged woman greeted Hermione with a swift hug, restraining herself when she felt the curve of the baby.  
  
"Come in, come in," urged Mrs. Granger quickly, and they were ushered into the home that had seen Hermione grow from a child to an adult. Introductions were made, and Severus quickly sized up his father-in-law; a tall man, once fit but going slightly paunchy in his forties. His handshake was firm, and Snape had to give the man points for shaking hands instead of immediately attacking the libertine who had debauched his little girl.  
  
"Why don't we sit down?" suggested Hermione's mother nervously.  
  
"Right," said Frank Granger firmly. "Then I think I'd like an explanation, if you please."  
  
"Dad," Hermione began, only to stop when Severus put his hand under her elbow. He pushed her gently to precede him and took a seat beside her on the comfortable sofa.  
  
"I take it Hermione has not informed you of the entire circumstances that have led to our marriage." It wasn't a question, but Hermione's mother treated it as such.  
  
"No, she hasn't. I must say I'm not at all pleased with the running of that school if a student has become involved with a teacher, and worse."  
  
"Hermione and I did not become involved, as you put it," Severus told her, keeping the edge from his voice with effort. "On the night of Halloween last, your daughter was abducted by Death Eaters. They intended to rape and murder her that night.  
  
"Forgive my bluntness," he continued, overriding their gasps of outrage and dismay, "but you need to understand Hermione is blameless in this matter. Her only fault is a surfeit of compassion."  
  
"Death Eaters?" questioned Cecilia Granger. "Those are the brutes who follow that chap Voldemort, aren't they?"  
  
"They are," Severus told her. "How did you know of them?"  
  
Frank Granger gave Hermione an apologetic look. "Well, we've had the Weasleys over for dinner a time or two."  
  
"You've what?" Hermione was astonished. "And you never told me?"  
  
"Well," said her mother, "you and Ron were dating at the time, dear. They're quite nice, although Arthur comes over a bit odd every time I plug something in."  
  
"We were all of us rather hoping you and Ron would work out. No offense, Professor," Frank Granger added to his son-in-law, sounding not in the least apologetic.  
  
"I understand. I, too, once thought I'd see Hermione take the name of Weasley. Though I'll admit I was less than thrilled at the idea."  
  
"Don't tell me you fancied our girl even then," asked Cecilia, alarmed.  
  
"No. But Ron Weasley wouldn't have made her a good match. He's a decent lad, but he doesn't understand a mind like Hermione's."  
  
"This wizard -- Voldemort. Arthur Weasley told us about him. What did he want Hermione for?" demanded her father. "Or a teacher, for that matter."  
  
In a bald, uncompromising narrative, Severus outlined the events of Halloween and the following weeks. Hermione elaborated where he glossed over his own injuries, and the cause. Between the two of them, they managed to relay the convoluted path to their present circumstances.  
  
"So. Severus," began Frank, as they sat in the living room holding cups of various contents. Over the past hour, they'd progressed to a first-name basis. Frank had offered scotch, and Severus had accepted with previously unsuspected grace; Hermione and her mother drank tea. "You and Hermione... are married, then."  
  
"Yes. We were handfasted last week."  
  
"Handfasting has the same legalities as marriage, Mum. It's just a wizarding ceremony rather than a church. Sort of like going to a magistrate."  
  
"I see," temporized her mother, sipping her tea. "You'll have to understand, we're very shocked at the suddenness of this, Severus. We always expected Hermione to finish school and go on to university..."  
  
"And she will," countered Severus. "Hermione is one of the brightest minds it has ever been my privilege to instruct. I will do all that is in my power to be sure she continues her education."  
  
"But how can you expect to support her?" injected her mother. "Hermione tells me you're no longer a professor at Hogwarts. How can you provide for her?"  
  
Snape let out a soft laugh, which surprised Hermione as well as her parents. "Supporting Hermione is not a problem. I had thought to rent a cottage in Hogsmeade after Hermione finishes school, where we can live until the baby is born and Hermione decides where she will attend and what she will study. Once we've settled that, we'll make arrangements to live near the school of her choice. I was rather hoping she'd consider l'Universite d' Arcanum in Rome, but she'll have to brush up on her Italian. A pipedream, I know, but my family has a lovely villa just on the outskirts of Naples."  
  
Leaning back on the sofa, he saw Hermione's suspicious frown and raised a single eyebrow at her. In truth, she had wondered how they would live, but other arrangements for their hasty wedding had intruded and she hadn't wanted to interrupt their honeymoon with harsh realities. Now she regarded him with a puzzled expression, and Severus began to enjoy himself immensely. It was rather nice, knowing that he had married a woman ignorant of his true means after so many years avoiding the gold diggers that flocked to him on the rare occasion he'd bothered to show in social settings.  
  
"A villa? In Naples?" echoed Hermione, and he gave her a bland look.  
  
"Just outside, actually, though my mother lives there currently, so I think that won't suit." He frowned thoughtfully, as though choosing between two biscuits in a tin. "We also have a great hulking pile of an estate in Kent, but I haven't been there in years. I think, on the whole, it would probably be best if we simply rented a house. I'll have my mother send over a house elf or two to change the nappies and such while you're in class."  
  
Hermione's parents exchanged a look, having been instructed on the servitude of house-elves and the social status of those who owned them, while Hermione herself simply goggled at her husband. The casual mention of estates and villas was further proof that the man in their living room was no itinerant schoolteacher.  
  
"You're telling me..." Hermione sputtered, much to Severus' amusement, "do you mean to sit there and tell me that you're rich? Not just a little saved up over the years, but flat out rich?"  
  
"Ten points to Gryffindor, Hermione. Though you could have known that at any time if you'd looked me up in the social registry." He laughed as she reached out to box his ears, but he quickly dragged her to his side, wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. She settled, still disgruntled, and Snape looked over at his parents-in-law, who had not missed this byplay.  
  
"I assure you, Frank, and you, Cecelia. I am quite prepared, financially, to take care of Hermione and our child. Even without my family fortune, I am still a Potions Master. As such, I can approach any wizarding firm in any country and offer my services for whatever sum I chose."  
  
"I thought a Potions Master was a bit like being a chemist," ventured Cecilia Granger, and her daughter felt the man in question stiffen.  
  
"Mum, a chemist is what we call an apothecary," Hermione corrected quickly. "A Potions Master is more like someone with a doctorate in Biology, Chemistry and several others."  
  
"However, there is still one other matter we must discuss." He twined his fingers with Hermione's, and she swallowed suddenly at the seriousness with which he regarded her.  
  
"The wizarding world is currently in a state of war. Voldemort is gathering his strength to overtake all that Hermione and I value, and we will soon find ourselves fighting for our lives."  
  
"Not Hermione!" protested Cecelia, and Snape frowned.  
  
"No. Not Hermione. Though if she were not with child, I doubt any of us could keep her from Harry Potter's side. But the battle is coming, and all of us are going to be fighting, very soon. Including myself.  
  
"I am officially a teacher, or was. But for many years I was also a mole. A spy, to put it bluntly, and I will soon be resuming that endeavor. I can promise you that I will take care of Hermione to the best of my ability. But my work is dangerous, and it is possible that I may not survive to see my child born."  
  
Hermione could not protest aloud, but closed her eyes against the tears and leaned her forehead against Severus' shoulder. He put his arm around her back, but continued resolutely. "If our side wins, then it will have been worth any price, but Hermione will need your support if I die."  
  
"Don't say that," she urged with a slight sob. "You promised."  
  
"I promised I will try," he corrected softly.  
  
*****  
  
"It's obvious he cares for you," Cecelia commented quietly as they washed the teacups some time later. "He's much older than you, but it's quite obvious, really."  
  
"I'm not so sure," Hermione admitted, sneaking a peak through the pass- through to the living room where Severus and Frank were discussing the different pain-killing concoctions they used. "He's a very hard person to know."  
  
"Well, I'll give you the only piece of advice my mother gave me on my wedding day," her mother offered.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Learn to bite your tongue for ten seconds."  
  
She blinked. "That's it?"  
  
"Yes, dear. You'd be surprised how often you can make things so much worse when you say the first thing that comes to mind." Cecilia wiped her hands with a towel. "You're going to have a difficult time ahead, love. Severus seems to be a bit on the prickly side. If he's this old and never been married, he's going to take careful handling."  
  
Hermione managed not to snort at this understatement and the thought of anyone 'handling' her new husband. "Mum, he's not even forty yet. Among wizards, that's not considered very old at all."  
  
"And you're very young, as well. I know you think you're all grown up now, but you still have a lot ahead of you."  
  
"Mum - how old were you when you told dad you'd marry him?"  
  
"I was nineteen, as you well know, miss." Her mother said with a touch of sharpness, but her eyes abruptly filled with tears. "Only you're not my miss any longer, are you?"  
  
Hermione impulsively hugged her mother and let her sniffle over her for a few moments before they went back to drying the dishes, wondering what it was about weddings and babies that made everyone such emotional basket cases.  
  
Even Frank Granger cleared his throat repeatedly when his daughter gave him a parting hug, promising to write and tell her parents what their plans were after school. He gave Severus a manly handshake and made a few father- in-law pronouncements, such as take care of my girl. To his own surprise, Severus found himself promising to do just that without even a shred of the condescension he'd expected when anticipating this exact moment.  
  
*****  
  
Regardless of the overwhelming evidence of the all-encompassing services of the house-elf, Noggy herself remained elusive. After finding the bed made every morning when she left the bath, the dinner dishes done the moment her back was turned, Hermione determined to corner the helpful, elusive little elf.  
  
Although Severus told her she was wasting her time, he did offer a piece of advice that was both brilliant and underhanded. Hermione refrained from complementing the Slytherin thinking but put it into action that very afternoon.  
  
Searching the small kitchen, she did eventually find the ingredients to make up a pudding, though she wasn't sure how she'd cook it. In the process, she made a mess Peeves the poltergeist would have appreciated. Stirring the mess in the bowl with enthusiasm, she nearly missed the popping sound of the house-elf Apparating into the kitchen.  
  
"Oh, Noggy. I'm so glad to see you. I've made a bit of a mess, I'm afraid, but I wanted to ask you to help me cook this."  
  
The house-elf squeaked in dismay, but did as Hermione asked and within moments had the ancient copper-clad stove fired up. A flick of her little green finger set the dishes to washing themselves, but Hermione kept a firm hold on the batter-smeared bowl.  
  
"I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of us during our honeymoon, Noggy."  
  
"Missus Snape is very welcome," piped Noggy in a nervous voice, her large, bulbous eyes rolling as if to judge the likelihood of getting the bowl away from Hermione.  
  
"I'll help clean this up," Hermione declared.  
  
"Oh, no, Missus Snape. Noggy will be doing the washing up. It's Noggy's job to be doing the dishes and the cooking. Missus needs to be resting," insisted the elf.  
  
"I'm pregnant, not ill," Hermione told her. "And I can clean my own mess. Don't you want my help?"  
  
Noggy's long ears flapped as she shook her head violently. "House-elves are for cleaning, not witches, Missus Snape. House-elves are for looking after wizards and taking care of things."  
  
Hermione put her hand on what was left of her hip, exasperated. "My name is Hermione," she told the elf. "And I promise you I'm not going to try and give you clothes. I just wanted to talk to you."  
  
"Noggy isn't afraid of clothes," came the cautious reply.  
  
"Then what are you afraid of?"  
  
Noggy's shoulders drooped visibly. "Noggy is afraid of Missus Snape."  
  
Tennis-ball eyes met hers, and Hermione frowned in confusion. "Of me? Why ever would you be afraid of me?"  
  
"Powerful Earth Magic. Noggy can feel it in Missus Snape."  
  
"I don't have Earth Magic, Noggy. I'm just a witch."  
  
"The Earth Magic is in Missus Snape, just like her baby. Is powerful magic, Missus Snape. Earth Magic is what binds an elf to his master, just like Missus Snape binds the Professor to her."  
  
"I what?" Hermione demanded. "How can you say that?" Noggy returned her horrified look, drawing back in fear as Hermione stared at her. The bowl in Hermione's hand fell from her nerveless fingers, and she flinched back as the elf pounced on the shards and began putting them back together.  
  
*****  
  
With his feet up on Dumbledore's desk, books gleaned from the shelves spread all around, Severus was perfectly relaxed until Hermione burst into the study.  
  
"What is it?" he asked, sitting up abruptly at the look of dismay and panic on her face. His concern quickly evaporated, however, as Hermione relayed her conversation with the house-elf. His dismissal of her anxiety, however, only served to increase it.  
  
Hermione crossed her arms, clamping her elbows down tightly to avoid any wild gestures. "I know you don't love me, Severus. Not," she paused, looking for the right words, trying and failing to control her emotions. "Not in the romantic sense of the word. I know you care for me. But even for that, I don't want it to be just because I've tricked you into it."  
  
"Hermione," he protested.  
  
"You said it yourself," she interrupted. "My skin, my hair," and she snatched a length of it and held it up as evidence, "as if anyone could ever be enchanted by my hair unless it really was magic."  
  
"Calm down," Severus told her, taking a gentle hold of her arms. "The only magic you're working is that of a woman on a man. Muggle, witch, or Veela, it doesn't matter. I find you attractive. We're lovers. Married. Don't you want me ensnared by your charms?"  
  
"NO," she said flatly. "I want you to want me for honest, tangible reasons, not something that disappears with a Finite Incantatum or a good night's sleep!"  
  
With a sigh, he pulled his wand from his sleeve. "Finite Incantatum."  
  
The wary look in her eyes was both amusing and heartbreaking as put away his wand and drew her into his arms, her body stiff and resistant. He buried his famous nose in her hair and inhaled deliberately. "You still smell wonderful," he told her. Sliding down to her neck, he sucked on the tender skin.  
  
"Still taste incredible." His mouth wandered to hers, kissing her slowly, fully, exploring her lips until she began to forget why she was protesting. "Still kiss like summer strawberries."  
  
Hermione chuckled unwillingly at this intentionally syrupy comparison, and he smiled as he leaned his brow against hers. "Use your sense, cârus. I may be led by my male instincts in this, but I'm not complaining, and I would be able to resist if I wished. But I don't wish. I chose this enthrallment, because I chose you."  
  
It was his turn to chuckle as Hermione eyed him thoughtfully before she pushed against his chest, backing him into the bookcase and leaning in as close as her stomach would allow. With delicate precision she kissed his lips, chin and jaw, then slid her cheek along his until her face was buried in the black silk of his hair. Her mouth explored the tendon on the side of his neck, and inhaled his scent. Her breath came out in a long sigh as she rested her forehead against his shoulder.  
  
"It must work both ways, because I chose you," she whispered.  
  
"Time for bed," Severus announced.  
  
Two hours later, Hermione stretched luxuriously and leaned over the edge of the bed to place her book on the floor. There was something deliciously decadent about studying in the nude, her body still warm from making love, though she doubted it was an observation she'd share with Harry and Ron. Stifling a yawn, she turned over to see her husband's eyes drooping, a sated smile still lingering on his face.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
"Hmm?" he answered sleepily.  
  
"What do you think we'll do, after?"  
  
"After what?"  
  
"After we defeat Voldemort."  
  
He laughed at her optimism, but it lacked any harshness. "I suppose I'll need to find a job, won't I?" he said dryly. "After all, I've a wife and child to support." Beneath the covers, he reached over and ran an affectionate hand over her stomach.  
  
"Do you have any idea what you'd like to do?"  
  
Severus rolled over on his side and looked at her, dark brows creasing. "Are you asking what I want to do when I grow up?"  
  
"I suppose so," Hermione answered. "I wanted to get my Potions Mistress award at Aleford, but it all seems a bit distant right now, with the war and everything."  
  
He pillowed his chin on his folded arm. "I've no idea. I'd had the thought of taking a brilliant apprentice and shagging her silly when I wasn't making her scour cauldrons." He gave a theatrical leer, and Hermione could not help smiling at this rather silly side to a man she'd once thought had no sense of humor.  
  
What?" he asked.  
  
"Every day we spend together, I learn something else about you. I'm wondering if I'll ever really know who you are." She'd meant it lightly, but his expression sobered.  
  
"I wonder that myself," he remarked pensively. "I've spent so many years playing a role, I'm not sure who I am any longer. You've married a stranger, Hermione, except I'm a stranger to myself as well."  
  
Hermione swallowed as she remembered Parvati's palm reading fortune. Trying to reassure both Severus and herself, she moved closer and slid a hand over his shoulder.  
  
"You're Severus Snape. You're a Potions Master," she began, striving to keep her tone casual. "You've a wicked sense of humor, rigid sense of honor, a sharp tongue and a nasty temper."  
  
He gave a snort, his good humor restored. "What else?" he challenged.  
  
"Well, you're unemployed," she continued, putting a note of disapproval in her voice, as though he were a lay-about with no prospects.  
  
"I am employed," he objected. "I'm just not getting paid for it."  
  
"A better-than-average lover..."  
  
"This from your vast experience, no doubt," he growled, pulling her towards him.  
  
"My husband," she whispered as his dark eyes pinned her and his mouth drifted closer to hers.  
  
"Damned straight," he assured her, and proceeded to prove the last two.  
  
******  
  
On their last evening, Severus lit the fire in Dumbledore's sitting room and settled back into the armchair with one final snifter of brandy pinched from the Headmaster's supply. Across the room, Hermione worked on the last of her school assignments, having for once in her life put off her homework until nearly the last minute. Lost in the reflections of the fire on the brass andirons and the rhythmic scratch of her quill, he sipped at the brandy and felt, for one moment in time, completely at peace.  
  
Finished at last with the homework, Hermione packed away the last bits of parchment and capped her ink bottles, stowing it all away in her bag before padding over to Severus' side. He glanced up at her, a welcoming expression softening the lines on either side of his mouth.  
  
"Finally finished, have you?" he asked. She nodded and stretched, her hands supporting the stressed muscles in small of her back, unconsciously showing off the curve of her pregnancy. Severus reached out and took one of her hands, pulling on it. Hermione obligingly draped herself onto his lap, though her bulk prohibited any gracefulness and making him grunt.  
  
"Sorry," she told him, shifting to a mutually comfortable position as he pulled her in against his chest.  
  
"For having bony elbows, or for leaving me to my own devices for most of the day?" he asked with mock severity.  
  
"Both, I suppose. Though you seemed to have survived the last few hours without my attentions."  
  
"Well," he began, "I did try to seduce you, earlier."  
  
Hermione pulled back. "You did?"  
  
"I did. It occurred to me that I'd likely be accused of seducing you, sooner or later, so I might as well be guilty for it." He frowned thoughtfully. "However, my skills at enticing young women appear to be lacking somewhat. You didn't even notice."  
  
Hermione groaned and buried her face against his neck. "I tend to be a bit single-minded when I'm studying. A manticore could wander through the room and I wouldn't notice until it ate my quills."  
  
A faint rumble of laughter echoed through his chest. "You'd slap it on the nose and tell it to go out in the garden."  
  
"Did you want to go to bed then?"  
  
"Not just now," Severus told her, resting his head against hers. "I'd rather stay here for a bit."  
  
"Is something bothering you?" Hermione asked tentatively.  
  
"No, not at all. Merely considering the endless capriciousness of Fate."  
  
She chuckled slightly. "You said that once before."  
  
"Hmm. Perhaps I should say appreciating that capriciousness. Nothing else could possibly have foreseen me sitting here with Albus' good brandy and an armful of Hogwart's Head Girl."  
  
He settled her more comfortably, and Hermione let her head droop to his shoulder, comfortable and warm, feeling appallingly domestic and not really caring.  
  
*****  
  
Some twenty hours later, Severus walked up the path to Hogwarts' entrance with Hermione's luggage in one hand and the young woman herself holding his other. The Express had come in more than an hour before, but the few students who still wandered the sloping lawn eyed the long-missing professor with some alarm, most completely overlooking the fact he was in the company of the Head Girl. A scowl sent them scurrying.  
  
"They're just afraid you're back to teach," Hermione told him. No smile answered hers, and she gave up any attempt to lighten his mood as they made their way up the last few yards to the stone stairs.  
  
"I want you to promise me you'll take care of your health, NEWTS or no NEWTS," he told her as he placed her bags on the steps leading up to the main door.  
  
"I'll try to..." A sharp look from those black eyes, and Hermione smiled, just a little. "I promise. If you'll promise to be careful."  
  
"As careful as I can be," he responded.  
  
Hermione looked at him levelly. "I love you, Severus."  
  
"Hermione," he began, pulling a face that did not quite reach the disdainful lip curl for which he was famous. He stopped, however, and took a short breath. "I have no idea how you can care for me, after all that has happened," he confessed. "But I should admit I'm selfish enough to be glad of it."  
  
Her eyes were luminous, and he was fairly certain she'd cry once she reached the sanctuary of the Head Girl's room, but a smile grew on her lips as he finally accepted her words without further argument. Severus desperately wanted to kiss her, carry her to her rooms and make love to her until neither of them could move. Instead, he took her hand, fingertip toying with the stones on the wedding ring, and lifted it gently to his lips.  
  
"It's silly, but I don't want to watch you walk away," she told him, sniffling slightly.  
  
"Asinine," he agreed, feeling exactly the same.  
  
"On three, then?" She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "One," she breathed. Then kissed him on the other cheek. "Two." Her mouth clung sweetly to his for a brief instant. "Three."  
  
Hermione turned first, picking up her things and striding towards the open doorway. She did not look back. Severus forced himself to turn as well, striding down the lawn towards the gates of Hogwarts. At the last moment he glanced back over his shoulder, just in time to see Hermione look back over hers as she disappeared into the shadows. The wedding ring on her left hand sparkled in the last ray of sunshine as she gave a farewell wave.  
  
  
  
(Author's Note # 1: Guess which Alan Rickman movie has the line "made so bold as to wish them joy."  
  
#2: cârus is Latin for Precious, or Darling.) 


	17. Chapter 17

Once inside Hogwarts' grand Entry Hall, Hermione sniffed back her tears and straightened her spine. Bag in hand, she marched to Gryffindor tower, giving short nods to those who greeted her but not stopping until she'd climbed through the portrait hole. Various members of her house milled about, talking and exchanging stories with their housemates, but neither Harry or Ron were in evidence. Ginny Weasley, buried in the corner with several of her sixth-year classmates, gave Hermione a look brimming with questions but restrained herself.  
  
Gathering her nerve, Hermione spared a quick wave to Ginny and headed straight for the sofa where Lavender and Parvati were chattering away over their respective holidays.  
  
"I need to talk to you two," Hermione told them. "Not here, though, alright? In your room?"  
  
"Happy to see you, too," Lavender responded sarcastically, although she had no chance of reaching anywhere near the acid Severus could attain. "Had a good holiday?"  
  
"Lovely. Are you coming or not?"  
  
Mystified, the two girls agreed and led the way to the seventh-year girls' room.  
  
Hermione and Severus had agreed on a highly edited version of the facts, and with Dumbledore's endorsement she had come up with an appropriately Slytherin approach to presenting those facts. Following her classmates into their dorm, Hermione rehearsed the preferred version in her mind and steeled herself for the next few minutes.  
  
Lavender ushered them all in the room before shutting the door. "Well, Granger, what's so important? New stack of books from the Library?"  
  
"I think she met someone!" Parvati announced as she toyed with the end of her braid, the gold bangles on her wrist chiming musically. "She's got a love-bite on her neck!"  
  
"Well, sort of," Hermione hedged. "There's something I wanted to show you. Two somethings, actually." Taking a deep breath, she left off unbuttoning her cloak and held out her left hand.  
  
Both girls peered at the ring, identical looks of astonishment pasted on their faces as they realized the quality of the jewels.  
  
"Is that an engagement ring?" asked Lavender, familiar with Muggle customs after spending so much time with her half-and-half boyfriend.  
  
"No," Hermione told her evenly, ignoring the tone of disbelief in Lavender's voice. "It's a wedding ring. I've gotten married."  
  
Lavender inhaled sharply, but both girls screeched as expected. In seconds, they were bouncing like animated ferrets, peppering her with questions.  
  
"You're married? MARRIED?? To who - who is it?"  
  
"Why on earth would you get married?" Lavender demanded. "Unless.OH my GOD!"  
  
With a smile, Hermione nodded and opened her cloak, resting a hand on her swollen middle. In seconds the girls dragged her over to sit on the nearest bed, besieging her from both sides with questions and exclamations. Amidst the bubbly excitement, Parvati's questions were comprehended first.  
  
"Who is he? Is it Ron Weasley?"  
  
"Not with that ring," Lavender said sharply.  
  
The girl's attitude was beginning to irritate her, but Hermione laughed, mindful of the impression she was trying to make.  
  
"Wait, wait! First of all, I got pregnant last year. I'm due this summer. But we just got married the first day of the hols."  
  
"I thought there was a charm on Hogwarts to prevent hormonal teenagers from getting pregnant," remarked Parvati disingenuously.  
  
"That's only a legend, Par. It's not true," Lavender cut in. "Well, is it someone we know?"  
  
"Yes and no," she answered. "It's Severus Snape."  
  
"Who?" Lavender asked blankly.  
  
"Severus - not, not," Parvati was quicker. "Professor Snape? Professor SNAPE?"  
  
"NO!!" gasped Lavender. Hermione nodded.  
  
The other two girls exchanged glances.  
  
"Details! Ohmigosh. Details!"  
  
"You have got to be kidding. A teacher?"  
  
"Not just any teacher - the Potions teacher," added Lavender in an awed voice. "When did this happen? Did he seduce you? Did he get sacked because of you?"  
  
"No, no," insisted Hermione, intent on heading off that particular line of thought. Careful not to mention any dates, she told the girls how she had been accosted by Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. An excellent audience, they gasped appropriately when she described the purpose of her abduction, though she made no mention of the identities of the men involved.  
  
Revealing the fact that Snape had been present but leaving out certain details, Hermione led the girls to believe that Snape had been abducted as well. She told them how he had given her his wand while he attacked the lead Death Eater, and how he'd been savagely beaten by the others.  
  
"I helped Madame Pomfrey nurse him back to health, and, well, one thing sort of led to another." She ducked her head, to hide her non-existent blush, and the two immediately jumped on the conclusion they'd been led to. Any hint of rape was transmuted to a quickly blooming romance of an injured man for his caretaker.  
  
"Oh, that's so sweet!" gushed Parvati, and while Lavender still seemed skeptical of the emotional dynamic, she did not question the way it had come about.  
  
"We're talking about Snape, right? Mean, nasty, greasy..."  
  
"He's much different when he's not trying to teach," Hermione interrupted. "Much different," she repeated, and this time she did not have to pretend a blush as she recalled exactly how different he could be outside the classroom. All on its own, her hand went to the sucker bite he'd left on her neck.  
  
Parvati squealed once more while Lavender giggled.  
  
"And you got pregnant? I thought Snape would have cast a charm, or least given you a potion or something to prevent that."  
  
"Well... we sort of got carried away..." Hermione drawled, setting off more giggles. "And he's spent the last few months talking me into getting married," she finished firmly. "So, we did."  
  
Now, with any luck at all, the two leading gossip hens of Hogwarts would have the preferred version of her tale spread from the dungeons to the Astronomy tower by dinner, or curfew at the latest. Inwardly Hermione cringed, but continued to smile and laugh as she answered endless silly questions about Severus Snape's previously unsuspected romantic nature, fervently hoping he never heard some of the details she was currently inventing.  
  
Once she escaped the clutches of Lavender and Parvarti, Hermione left the Gryffindor common room with another wave in Ginny's direction and gratefully made her way through the mostly silent hallways to the Head Girl's room. The black school bag was as light as ever, but her luggage was dragging heavily, causing her shoulder and back ache. She wanted nothing more than to find her room, greet her cat, and collapse on the big four-poster bed.  
  
Nothing could be that easy, though, and she stopped dead on the last few treads of the staircase when Draco Malfoy suddenly appeared at the landing.  
  
"Granger," he sneered. In a flash she realized his tenor voice was attempting the same silky domination Severus attained so easily, and her back stiffened in defiance. Why, he's nothing but a wanna-be, she thought. Neither as intimidating as his former head of house or his father, Draco's posing was a pale imitation of the men he wanted to model himself after.  
  
Even as she thought this, he gave her the same insulting visual inspection that had been his habit, but the disdain flickered into confusion as he took in her pregnancy, revealed by the open front of her cloak. Shock, revulsion and fury chased each other across his face until the scorn returned.  
  
"Another Mud Blood bastard, Granger?" he spat out. "Do you really think even Weasley will want you now?"  
  
"If anyone here is a bastard, Malfoy, it's you. And certainly not my baby." Boldly she held out her left hand, showing the ring Severus had given her.  
  
"What idiot would be stupid enough to give you that?"  
  
"Well," she began lightly, "I call him Severus, but I believe you know him as Professor Snape."  
  
Draco paled, but she could see the wheels turning. "So you were his whore."  
  
"He gave me a message to give you, Draco," Hermione told him, ignoring his insult. "He particularly wanted to be sure you passed it along to your father."  
  
"What could that traitor possibly have to say to my father?"  
  
"He said to remind you that Slytherins protect their own."  
  
"A blood feud?" Draco exclaimed skeptically. "Over a Mud-Blood? Don't make me laugh."  
  
"I'm just passing on the message, Draco. It's a Slytherin tradition."  
  
During one of their long talks, Severus had told her that Slytherins considered other members of their own house as fair a game as any other, but attacking the family of your enemy was grounds for a blood feud that could last for generations. Hermione had been less than polite in refuting that, given the Death Eaters' penchant for attacking at their target's weakest point.  
  
That had let her in for a long lecture about the former glory that was Slytherin house, where cunning and ambition were considered valuable traits as long as personal honor was not compromised. A true Slytherin has honor above all else, Severus had insisted, or he's just another thug. Considering what Severus' personal honor had cost him, she was willing to concede the point.  
  
Draco swallowed visibly, his contempt losing conviction. "I'll tell him. And you can tell him that my father will find him and make him pay for his betrayal."  
  
"You'll have to tell him that yourself. You see, I have no idea where he's gone."  
  
"You're lying."  
  
"You can believe it, or not, I don't really care. He said he had some arrangements to make, and he'd surprise me when school was out." She descended the last few stairs towards the incredulous Slytherin, hoping to make it to her room before Draco's shock wore off. "I think he's gone to buy me a house," she added fatuously.  
  
Hermione's ploy worked; Draco remained rooted to the spot while she swept past him, and for once had no parting comment as she left his presence. With carefully hidden relief she reached the sanctuary of her room and shut the door behind her.  
  
Crookshanks immediately swarmed up to her, meowing in joy that his witch had returned, purring madly as he twined himself around her ankles. Hermione dropped to her knees and cuddled ecstatic ball of fluff to her, a single sob mingling with the relieved laughter that someone, at least, was happy to see her.  
  
*****  
  
In what Dumbledore would have termed one of the less savory pubs of Hogsmeade, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin huddled over a few pints of bitters. Unfortunately, the ale wasn't worth the nursing, and Remus pulled a face as he took a sip while watching the room. The crowd at the bar was moderate, but they'd taken care to find a table where the door could easily be observed without being too obvious. Black had long since stopped looking up every time it opened, though his grumbling had not ceased.  
  
"He's late."  
  
"He said he'd be here around seven, and it's just a bit after. Relax, Padfoot." The oak door opened again. "And there he is," Remus announced quietly.  
  
Neither man made any gesture of greeting, and Severus Snape walked past their table without notice, only to casually backtrack and take the third chair.  
  
"You're late," Black repeated.  
  
"And you're as charming as ever," Severus told him. "I had business to attend to."  
  
"Business that's kept you a week past our original timetable?" Sirius asked. "What the hell was so important you kept us waiting this long?"  
  
"You didn't tell him?" Severus asked Lupin.  
  
"No," Remus answered, grinning into his mug. "I thought you'd want to see his face when he heard."  
  
"Heard what?"  
  
"I'm beginning to like you, Lupin," Severus told the werewolf with a grim smile.  
  
"Shut your gob and tell me," Sirius ordered.  
  
This oxymoron received the disdain it deserved. "If you must know, Black, I was with a woman."  
  
Black snorted. "What kind of tart would voluntarily spend that much time with you?"  
  
Severus' hand shot out and grabbed the neck of Sirius' coat, causing ale to slosh out of his mug as he was dragged closer. "Say that again, Black, and you'll be saying it through a broken jaw. For your information, I got married."  
  
"Bollocks," Sirius spat out in patent disbelief. "Who would marry you?"  
  
"Hermione Granger," Remus volunteered, rather enjoying the spectacle Snape was making. If he'd had his doubts of the man's attachment to his new bride, those were being dispelled quickly. The two men had aggravated each other for years, but Snape would never have reacted to such a comment if it hadn't bothered him.  
  
"Hermione? Ron's Hermione?" Sirius demanded, grabbing Snape's coat lapel in turn.  
  
"She never was and never will be 'Ron Weasley's Hermione.' She's my wife."  
  
"And soon to be a mother," Remus added helpfully. Might as well get it over with, he thought. At least they won't draw wands on each other in a crowd.  
  
"WHAT?" Sirius roared. It was a tossup as to who dragged whom to their feet, and they hit the wall at the same time. Around the room, various elements dropped their conversations and watched the unfolding entertainment with interest.  
  
"You bastard!!" Sirius raged. "She's a child!"  
  
"She's eighteen," Severus told him. "And she's my WIFE!"  
  
"She's half your age!"  
  
"Outside, gents!" bellowed the barkeep coming out from behind the counter, his voice rising over the enthusiastic shouts of the onlookers. The exchange of insults paused, but neither man released his hold on the other.  
  
"It's a long story," Remus told Black as he placed some Sickles on the table and grabbed Sirius' overcoat. "We can discuss this on the way." His prodigious werewolf strength was more than equal to the task of separating the two combatants, and he pulled them apart with ease.  
  
"Just two blokes fighting over a bird," he called out to the room at large, getting an understanding laugh from many of the drinkers. "Sorry for the mess."  
  
The barkeep waved him off, collecting the overturned mugs and picking up the coins. "Happens every damned day. I need to wear referee robes some nights."  
  
"WALK," Remus barked as the three men found themselves on the quiet street, accompanying his order with a shove in the proper direction. "As I said, Padfoot, it's a long story. Do you want to tell it, Severus, or shall I?"  
  
"By all means, Lupin, do indulge your sense of the dramatic," Severus drawled as he straightened his clothing. "I know you're dying to."  
  
"Shut it, you," growled Sirius. "Moony? This better be good."  
  
"Oh, it is," Remus replied glibly. "See, it all starts with Hermione Granger being snatched by Lucius Malfoy's little Death Eating ass-kissers, and then our friend here letting Malfoy get a wand up on him."  
  
"Malfoy should be buggered by a hippogriff," Sirius bit out.  
  
"For once, Black, I agree with you," Severus told him.  
  
Remus Lupin's voice faded into the distance as they strode along the avenue lit only by the occasional torch and the quarter moon above, headed for parts unknown.  
  
*****  
  
Flanked by Harry on one side and Ron on the other, Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, hoping her stomach would behave itself despite the knots it was currently twisting into. The whispering began almost instantly, and followed her as she walked down between the tables to her usual place beside Seamus Finnegan. It reached a crescendo as she caught up her school robes against herself as she sat down, outlining her pregnancy for all to see.  
  
Ron took the seat on her other side, while Harry quickly went around the end of the table to his spot opposite her. The buzz in the hall rose and fell as the story reached the ends of the hall and even up to the rafters, where the Gray Lady hovered with the Bloody Baron, whispering into his ear. The grim, silver splotched ghost floated near the ceiling and crossed his arms, then gave her an approving nod when she glared at him. "Another Slytherin, no doubt," he mouthed silently.  
  
Hermione suddenly grinned at the absurdity of it all and shook her head. If she'd married anyone else, or gotten pregnant just after school, most of her classmates would have shrugged with disinterest and gone on with their lives without sparing her another thought. Once they left school and the relatively uncomplicated life within those bounds, they would probably realize just how silly their behavior was. She asked Seamus to pass the juice, which he did, along with a plate of toast. Normality began to creep back in as she piled her breakfast onto her plate and completely ignored the ninny flock around her.  
  
Just the other side of Seamus, Lavender came and sat down. She did not answer the various greetings she received, and after a moment leaned over and whispered into her boyfriend's ear.  
  
Seamus stopped chewing, then swallowed carefully. "What?" he demanded.  
  
"I said, I'm pregnant, too," Lavender repeated crossly and quite loudly. Hermione could see the young woman's chin quiver. The table grew deathly quiet.  
  
"Lavender..." stammered Seamus.  
  
"Never mind," the girl muttered, rising quickly out of her seat. Before she'd gone but a few steps, Seamus caught her by the arm. He forced her to look at him by cupping her face with his free hand.  
  
"Really?" he asked, in a tone of wonder.  
  
Lavender nodded miserably. A tear trickled down her cheek and Seamus wiped it away with his thumb before kissing her. The kiss quickly passed from a tasteful peck to full-blown Public Display, amid rising cheers and applause from the nearby tables.  
  
Seamus suddenly broke the kiss and whispered something, to which Lavender nodded shyly. He let out a whoop and lifted her off the floor, twirling her around.  
  
"When's the wedding, Seamus?" called Ron, proving he wasn't completely oblivious.  
  
"As soon as we graduate. Right?" he asked Lavender, who only nodded again and kissed him. Amid some laughter and a few rather off-color comments, the newly engaged couple sat back down to their breakfast.  
  
Across the table from Hermione, Ginny leaned over and whispered into Harry's ear. Harry gulped visibly and grinned.  
  
Ron, however, scowled and put his spoon down with a thunk. "Hermione," he began pointedly, "I was just telling Ginny here that you really can get pregnant the first time you shag someone."  
  
Hermione gave Ron a look. His ears had gone red, as had Harry's, but whereas Ron's face was belligerent, Harry was carefully watching his plate and not his friend or, more importantly, the red-haired girl sitting beside him. Ginny, however, lifted her chin and stared back at her older brother with a dangerous light in her eye.  
  
"Yes, it's true," Ginny answered before Hermione could respond. "Although, if one plans ahead, a visit to Madame Pomfrey can take care of it."  
  
"That's very interesting, Miss Weasley," came McGonagall's crisp voice. Hermione and Ron turned to look at the Transfiguration teacher standing beside them, her mouth pursed in displeasure and a spot of color high on each cheek.  
  
Professor McGonagall pinned each Gryffindor in the immediate vicinity with a sharp glance over her square glasses. "You, Miss Brown, and you, Mrs. Snape, and I think Miss Weasley as well, will take yourselves this very afternoon to Madame Pomfrey's office. The four of you will put together whatever information Pomfrey deems adequate to cover the subject of reproduction and birth control. It will be on my desk by Friday evening, no later. Once I've approved it, the Head Girl will see to it that a copy is given to every sixth and seventh form girl on the premises. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"  
  
"Yes, Professor," chorused the young women meekly.  
  
"I've been insisting for years that something of the sort was needed in this school, but the Headmaster has always taken the Board of Governors view that sex education doesn't belong at Hogwarts." She sniffed in disdain. "As though none of them remember what they got up to when they were teenagers. I was at school the same year as Cornelius Fudge, and I could tell you stories.. Of course he doesn't remember it that way."  
  
The older witch sniffed again, and Hermione had to hide her grin at the shock from her classmates. Ron looked as though he might die on the spot, while Harry was gaping, his mouth hanging open, giving a somewhat unattractive view of his last bite. The very thought of Minister Fudge acting like a randy teenager was highly disturbing.  
  
"Remember, ladies. No later than eight o'clock on Friday, or I'll be deducting so many points from Gryffindor you'll wish Professor Snape were here instead." Despite her stern voice, the tiniest wink in Hermione's direction set off another grin. "Now. Where is the Head Boy? I think I need to have a word with him, as well."  
  
The embarrassed sniggers at the Gryffindor table subsided as the morning squadron of owls swooped through the windows and began to drop mail to students throughout the hall. Though she knew it was silly, Hermione could not help a small flicker of disappointment that she did not receive a letter. Instead, she applied herself to her meal and listened absently to the others discussing their correspondence.  
  
The startled cry of an unknown student alerted everyone to the latest avian delivery. Every eye in the Hall flew up to watch as a huge black and white eagle soared into the hall. Owls everywhere scattered for cover while the eagle circled the room, its long, broad wings taking the corners nimbly. Neatly backwinging, it dropped to the Gryffindor table, its heavy talons hitting the tabletop with a loud clatter.  
  
The sudden silence was broken when Hagrid exclaimed happily, "That's a Bateleur Eagle, that is."  
  
The eagle hopped lightly forward, crossing a distance longer than Hermione's arm to land just in front of her nearly empty plate. It regarded her steadily, the black feathers standing up around a reddish face as it cocked its head from one side to the other. Satisfied, it plucked at a cord around its neck with a huge, curved beak, pulling off a loop. A small box dangled from the loop.  
  
"Thank you," Hermione managed, taking the box.  
  
The eagle bobbed its head once and took off, wings beating loudly as it soared out the window, sending nervous owls in every direction.  
  
Wicked," commented Ron.  
  
What did you get?" asked Lavender.  
  
The brown paper wrapping was inscribed 'Hermione Granger Snape,' and was tied with a heavy string. Hermione tore the string and brown paper off the box and opened it. Inside was a wad of cotton wool and a note.  
  
Scanning the note quickly, it read;  
  
My dearest Hermione,  
  
My son has written me of your marriage, and I hope you will forgive an old woman for being eager to meet you. I have waited for this day for more than a decade, however, so I suppose that a few more weeks will make no difference.  
  
Please accept this token of welcome to the family. It is the Snape family crest and has been a gift to each new bride for four centuries. Don't fret - the chain is spelled against breaking and the medallion itself has a powerful anti-theft charm on it. Please wear it as a gift from both Severus and myself. You have already given me the most priceless gift of all - the happiness of my son and the future grandchild you bear.  
  
Until we meet, I remain,  
  
Lucretia Snape  
  
Within a nest of cotton wool, a bright gleam of metal and jewels shone. Hermione's breath caught as she carefully removed it.  
  
The pendant was rather large, consisting mostly of a circle of many leaves formed of gold with an overlay of brilliant green enamel. In the center of the leaves, small garnets or possibly rubies formed the shape of an apple. A closer examination showed an edge of the apple had a bite taken from it, the apple's flesh depicted in tiny yellow diamonds. Other details made themselves known, such as the tiny brown enameled stem, and a small snake slithering among the tiny green leaves, its emerald eyes showing no remorse.  
  
Turning it over, Hermione found a Latin motto inscribed on the back. "Cognitio indifferns virtus mallus," she read.  
  
As she read the words, a tingle of magic went though her fingers, and she nearly dropped it. Common sense told her to immediately put the jewelry back in the box and ship it back to Italy, but the desire to have something so connected to Severus easily overrode that impulse. Instead, Hermione put the gold chain around her neck, the medallion inside her robes, and resolved to go see Professor Flitwick at her earliest opportunity.  
  
The next afternoon, Hermione managed to get to Charms early enough to have the enchantment professor examine the necklace. Declining to touch it, Flitwick adjusted his spectacles and peered closely at the piece in Hermione's cupped hands. A few waves of his wand and quite a bit of muttering later, the diminutive wizard backed away, shaking his head. "I'm not familiar with this particular charm, but it's definitely the work of a master," he pronounced in his squeaky voice. "So is the jewel work, for that matter. It's not by Cellini or Boticelli, but a Renaissance master most certainly made that."  
  
"It's supposed to be a family heirloom," Hermione told him. "It was a gift from - well, from my mother-in-law."  
  
"Really? It's lovely," Flitwick told her. "I'd tell you to keep it safe, but it appears to be doing a fine job of that by itself. By the way, a hearty congratulations to you and Severus, as well," he added. "Do be sure to tell your husband he will be missed here at Hogwarts."  
  
"Thank you," Hermione managed. "Are you sure this isn't too valuable to wear?"  
  
"It may indeed be valuable, but wizards have a penchant for handing down this kind of enchanted jewelry. I'm entirely certain that the enchantments are as you were told - spells to keep it from being stolen or lost. Wear it in good health, Miss Granger. I beg your pardon," he beamed. "Mrs. Snape. Now, I see our class is ready to begin. If you'll take your seat, please?"  
  
Hermione took her place next to Harry, who had rushed in at the last moment, and both of the settled their things and waited while Professor Flitwick climbed onto the stack of books that brought him up to the podium's height.  
  
To her surprise, Flitwick's lecture began by discussing elemental magic in spellcasting and how grounding the spell in the appropriate element increased the spell's efficiency. He quickly moved on to other ways of increasing spell efficiency, and while Hermione's quill made rapid notes, her brain continued to dredge up the comments made by Noggy the house-elf regarding the Earth Magic.  
  
When Flitwick paused near the end of his lecture, Hermione raised her hand.  
  
"Professor, could you elaborate a bit more on Earth Magic?"  
  
Flitwick was momentarily nonplussed, but answered readily. "Earth Magic is another name for primitive magic, or elemental magic. As you may remember from your Theory of Magic classes last year, the force of magic can be tapped into by anyone sufficiently motivated or upset. Earth Magic is considered a feminine attribute, since females are the bearer of young. Additionally, the menstrual cycle is usually governed by the phases of the moon, which is another earth symbol. Young girls usually develop into their power at the same time they are developing into their womanhood, and the two are linked. As many of you young ladies have no doubt observed, your control of your power fluctuates depending on your cycle."  
  
Although one or two girls blushed at this very casual reference to their personal lives, several heads nodded in agreement. Flitwick's expression cleared has he suddenly made the connection between her pregnancy and her question.  
  
"Have you noticed a change in your powers in the last few months, Mrs. Snape?"  
  
Hermione nodded, ignoring the whispers elicited by her new status and name. "Some days I could barely get anything to work, and yet lately I feel much more powerful."  
  
"That's to be expected, in your condition," he assured her. "You'll find that your abilities will even out shortly after your confinement."  
  
Hermione nodded, but Harry shifted closer. "What's he mean, confinement?" he hissed.  
  
"It means when I give birth," she whispered back.  
  
Harry turned a slight shade of green and turned his attention back to Flitwick, who had continued lecturing on elemental magic.  
  
"On the other hand, young men are usually linked to what is sometimes known as Fire magic. Which is why, before you were given a wand and a proper magical education, your accidental magic occurred most often when you lads lost your temper.  
  
"Now, please bear in mind that I'm making a rather broad generalization. A young girl is just as likely to magically break a window while throwing a temper tantrum, and a boy in the grips of melancholia can be just as destructive. What it does mean, however, is that the child is tapping into the magical elements around him rather than channeling it through a wand, and is actually performing a kind of wandless magic. There are several documented cases of elemental magic used to produce astonishing results. However. It is highly taxing on the person working such magic, and can have disastrous, unforeseen results. In some of those cases, it has been fatal.  
  
"Does that answer your question, Mrs. Snape?"  
  
Hermione assured the Charms professor that it did, all the while mulling over the fact that the normally gregarious little man had carefully not looked in Harry Potter's direction while discussing the fatal results of using wild, elemental magic.  
  
*****  
  
Just as Hermione had resigned herself to not receiving any mail from her husband at all, a short note from Severus arrived with the morning mail. Typically restrained, it expressed confidence in her ability to pass the NEWTS and contained both subtle encouragement of her spirits and more than one stern admonishment to take care of her health. The note ended only with his initials, but a blot of ink showed his quill had rested there for several moments before he decided on how to sign it.  
  
Harry and Ron had received a note from Severus as well, though she didn't find out about it until she left the library rather late one evening and caught Harry waiting for her in the hall.  
  
With Draco Malfoy's sudden cessation of his stalking habit, Hermione had begun to feel more at ease in wandering the halls of Hogwarts at will. The constant presence of one or both of her friends had not registered until Harry and Ron showed up, all too coincidentally, to walk her back to her room for the third night in a row. Stopping abruptly in the hall, she turned on them both.  
  
Why are you following me?" she demanded.  
  
Ron and Harry exchanged a look.  
  
"Because Snape asked us to," Harry finally confessed. Ron's face screwed up, waiting for the outrage. It was not long in coming.  
  
"Of ALL the NERVE!" she exploded. "How DARE he? I'm two months from graduating -- I'm bloody well HEAD GIRL! Do I look like I need a babysitter?"  
  
"Maybe in a few months," Ron pointed out rashly. The glare he received in return was dangerous.  
  
"Look, Hermione," added Harry quickly as she turned her ire on him. "He's just worried about you. He only asked us to keep an eye on you to make sure Malfoy or one of his little scrotes didn't give you a hard time."  
  
"Yeah," chimed in Ron. "He called it an olive branch, whatever that's supposed to mean."  
  
Hermione's mouth opened and closed several times before she could make her voice work again. "That is so.so.SLYTHERIN of him! He recruits you two to watch over me day and night by asking you to do it as a favor. That way you three get to be manly and play back-slapping bloody heroes all together, while I get to be the damsel in distress! And he knows that if I kick up a fuss about it and make you stop, it will be my fault that the three of you can't get along!!"  
  
"Pretty much," Harry admitted lamely.  
  
"Clever git, idn't he?" commented Ron.  
  
*****  
  
Someone once observed that the wheels of government grind slowly, and so it was well after school resumed and just after the first of May when Dumbledore received an official visit from a rather prissy string-bean of a wizard. Mr. Blackadder, from the Ministry, made it perfectly clear during the few hours he was at Hogwarts that he detested children, Deputy Head Mistress Professor McGonagall, and most especially the Headmaster himself. Having heard the talk from her classmates, Hermione found herself wondering if Severus would have cut the man off at the knees or destroyed him utterly with a few well-placed stabs at the man's ego.  
  
Later that afternoon, once the ministry official had left, Hermione herself received a note from Dumbledore asking her to take tea with him. She showed up precisely on time, for once grateful for the rotating stairs that did not require her to climb up them to reach the tower to the Headmaster's office. She found the round office somewhat different than the last time she'd been invited up, as several shelves were empty, the books lying in stacks and the clean swaths on the shelves and cabinet doors were evidence of a vigorous dusting.  
  
"Are you packing up things?" she asked, for some reason unnerved by the signs of industry.  
  
"No, no, my dear. I'm afraid I've become a bit of a magpie over the years," Dumbledore confessed with a faint smile. "I have plans for this summer, and decided I'd get a head start on a little cleaning. Minerva does so hate clutter, and I've grown a bit weary of her nagging me."  
  
He waved Hermione to a chair, where a teapot waited. Above his chair, Fawkes the phoenix perked up from his dozing and peered at Hermione with interest. His beady black eyes seemed focused on her midsection.  
  
"Humans don't do eggs, or burning," she told the bird. "We do it this way instead."  
  
The red and gold head bobbed, and Fawkes let out a single note of acknowledgment before he abruptly turned his back on both Hermione and Dumbledore, apparently intent on resuming his nap.  
  
"Is the Ministry going to give you any trouble over Severus having married me?" Hermione asked as she poured a cup of tea at Dumbledore's request and offered it to him. "They can't really do much, can they?"  
  
"The Ministry and Fudge most especially have been less than pleased with the way I conduct this school," Dumbledore answered lightly. "However, I still have the full confidence of the Board of Governors, and until such time as those gentlemen see fit to relieve me, Cornelius Fudge is without grounds or recourse."  
  
"But isn't Mr. Blackadder going to tell the Board what he found out today?"  
  
"Mr. Blackadder," began Dumbledore in amused tones that told Hermione exactly what opinion that individual was held, "came here to investigate the reports of a student being seduced by a teacher. Since Death Eaters officially do not exist, I could hardly send him back with a tale of non- existent ruffians. Instead, I simply made it quite clear that you and Professor Snape were not on good terms with each other until well after he had begun his leave of absence. What happened after he left my employ was none of my business."  
  
"And did he believe you?"  
  
Dumbledore found the ceiling rather interesting at that moment. "I must confess Mr. Blackadder was left with the distinct impression that Severus was a socially inept gentleman scholar, lost to the charms of a very clever young lady."  
  
"You mean he thinks I'm a social climbing tart who's trapped herself a rich husband," Hermione guessed with a touch of outrage, then slumped into her chair. "Well, I suppose it could be worse." The tea was stirred and drunk without paying it more than a cursory glance.  
  
"Indeed it could. And has been, in my time," he sighed. Almost to himself, he muttered, "I never thought I would live to see history repeat itself."  
  
Hermione observed the tired droop of Dumbledore's shoulders. "Were things this bad when you defeated Grindelwald?" she asked timidly.  
  
Dumbledore inhaled, then let out the breath slowly, and a sudden current of magic in the air seemed to ruffle around the wizard, swirling like smoky wings in the small room. The power radiated off him for a moment as memories pressed in from all sides.  
  
"It was worse, actually," Dumbledore told her, his old man's voice sounding deep and resigned. "There was another war on as well, you see, with Muggles fighting Muggles all over the world. I was in my eighties when I battled Grindelwald, and I swore I would never allow such a thing to come to pass again. And yet, now it has."  
  
Hermione spoke without thinking. "It's not, not really."  
  
"No Miss Granger? I beg your pardon. Mrs. Snape."  
  
"From what I've read," Hermione began seriously, "Grindelwald had a very small circle of supporters. World War II was something he simply took advantage of to further his own ends. Voldemort seems to have learnt from that mistake. He's recruited a lot of Death Eaters, doesn't he?"  
  
"He has created a broader base of power, but then again, Hermione, so have I."  
  
"But back then you acted alone, correct?"  
  
"Not precisely alone," he corrected. "My godson fought at my side, as well as a few others, but nothing like the Order I have now."  
  
"Your godson?" Hermione asked.  
  
Dumbledore smiled fondly into his beard. "My godson, Gussy. Better known to you, I think, as Augustus Snape."  
  
"Severus' father? I thought.. well, Severus told me he was like Lucius Malfoy."  
  
"It is unfortunate a son never gets to know his father at the same age. While it is true Gussy eventually became a martinet, when he was twenty he was a hey-go-mad youth much like his father before him. The Weasley twins would have been hard pressed to keep up with such a scoundrel."  
  
Hermione was fascinated. "What changed him?"  
  
"The war, I believe. It changed us all. Augustus thought it would be diverting to accompany me to a rendezvous I'd arranged with some of the wizard families trapped in Moscow during the German occupation of Russia. The carnage absolutely appalled him, of course, but he didn't really take it to heart, not then, anyway."  
  
"War is something Muggles did to Muggles, right?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded sadly. "I found traces of Grindelwald's influence, though. I didn't catch up to him until two years later, but Gussy and I found evidence of wizards and witches being caught up in the war, killed by Muggles who were pawns of Grindelwald. We managed to liberate a few from a train, one night, and he had a young Romany witch attach herself to him before he could say her nay. I think she fell in love with him immediately.  
  
"After I dealt with Grindelwald," and at that unassuming phrase Hermione struggled not to cough, "Augustus changed. Those years after the war were very difficult, for Muggles and wizard folk alike. I don't think he wanted to have children, but Lucretia wore him down and eventually they produced Severus. Unfortunately for the boy, he was born at the height of the sixties."  
  
"My parents have told me about that," Hermione said.  
  
"In compensation, Augustus was that much more strict with the boy, and he died just before Severus was out of school. A pity, really." Dumbledore set his cup on the table. "I've seen so many older wizards murdered in the past half century, Hermione. I worry about the effect that will have on our world."  
  
Hermione nodded. "I'm working on a project with Madame Pomfrey, and I asked her if there are any census data for wizards. She didn't know of any, but it does seem as though wizarding folk are spread a bit thin."  
  
"You may be aware that nearly one in five new students at Hogwarts are Muggle born like yourself, my dear. A further percentage have parents of both worlds, and are what Mr. Finnegan refers to as half-and-half. But tell me, Hermione. Do you know of many of your peers who have more than one sibling?"  
  
"Well, there's Ron," she replied instantly, and Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"Yes, well, the Weasley family is a rarity among pure-blood wizards. Most wizard families have only one, perhaps two children."  
  
"A stable population of any sort requires the birth rate and relative longevity offset each other," Hermione quoted from a long-forgotten medical article she'd read. "Unless that population is upset by a mass event."  
  
"Exactly, my dear. I fear our society is in grave danger of dying out, if only because we cannot replenish our best and brightest as quickly as Voldemort finds ways to kill them. Which is why I was so very pleased to hear you intended to keep your child, Hemione. The wizarding world needs fresh young minds like yours, and your marriage to Severus is a shining hope for me. I hope the two of you find much joy in the years ahead."  
  
Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The Headmaster's optimism was straightforward and unwavering, like gazing into the sun. The currents of power surrounding the old wizard were just as warming, lulling her into complacent agreement despite the ever-present gnawing concern for Severus and the wizards with him.  
  
Looking at the Headmaster, sitting behind his desk with a cup of tea hidden amongst the flotsam on his desk, he looked like someone's favorite uncle. With his long beard and hair, half-moon glasses and general air of an absent-minded professor, Albus Dumbledore could have been any doddering pensioner in wizard's robes.  
  
It took a conscious act on Hermione's part to remember that this old man was likely the most powerful wizard alive, and was actively fighting a nasty little undeclared war against a being of almost pure evil. He was fighting to preserve not his own wrinkled skin, since his longevity could not deny the wages of time any more than any other wizard, or even of the status quo of the society, but the very preservation of his world.  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
After hearing from more than a half-dozen Latin goobs, I concede the point and agree that Severus should have used the endearment 'Cara' instead of 'Carus.' What's the point of spending money on a Latin dictionary if it doesn't mention masculine and feminine versions? A Bateleur Eagle is a African Eagle with a five foot wingspan and noted for being an acrobatic flyer. See a picture of one here: http://animalpicturesarchive.com/animal/ViewImg.cgi?img=a4/Dn-a0179- Bateleur_Eagles-by_Darren_New.jpg.  
  
*****  
  
  
  
Bateleur Eagles are a Mediterranean Eagle with mostly black plumage and red heads. 


	18. Chapter 18

As the month of May wore on, Hermione's baby grew bigger, and she could swear the stairs at Hogwarts became longer with each passing day. The steps she'd traipsed easily up and down in the earlier years of her education had now become a daily endurance test. More and more she blessed the existence of the virtually weightless black leather satchel that had been Severus' first gift. The little 'HS' monogram on the front was polished on a regular basis.  
  
This particular Friday afternoon, however, Hermione had trudged up the stairs as fast as her swelling ankles could take her, grateful that Madame Pomfrey had no need of her. Her schedule had been adjusted to the point that she had the latter part of her afternoons free, and even the ones devoted to Madame Pomfrey could be skivved off as long as the mediwitch was satisfied with the potions stores.  
  
All of which explained her current position, flat on her back with her feet up on a pile of pillows, her school robes in a crumpled heap on the floor while she herself wore only a loose shirt and her underwear. Crookshanks also occupied part of the bed, demanding an occasional petting as he lay sprawled across one of the open textbooks. His witch, meanwhile, was half- heartedly attempting to review her study notes but was mostly lying still and feeling her baby move. And moping, Hermione confessed to herself. She missed Severus more than she had thought she would, if not precisely WHEN she had anticipated.  
  
It was not at night, when she lay in her huge, empty bed with only Crookshanks for company, though she missed him then as well. It was during her quiet study times that she found herself mourning his absence, when her mind swam in strong currents of thought and she wanted to ask him things, discuss all manner of subjects with him, and to hear his deep, resonant voice pour out sarcastic and devastatingly accurate observations. She missed being able to verbally explore a subject without first having to explain what it was she was actually talking about, or be able draw obscure parallels between, for instance, pure-blood wizards and the royal families of Europe without having to explain about recessive genes. Ron Weasley might have been able to recite the name of every Chudley Cannons Keeper for the last twenty years, but he couldn't have come up with the nationality of Catherine the Great if he'd been tied up and tortured.  
  
*****  
  
Somewhere in the forests of Broughton Moor in the Lake District of England, three men huddled around a sullen campfire and waited, individually and collectively, for various things to happen. Remus Lupin was waiting for the teakettle to heat up. Personally he had no objection to magically heated water, but his two companions, in a very odd moment of solidarity, both complained that water heated by magic simply tasted horrible, and would rather taste smoke in their tea than compromise.  
  
Severus Snape lounged on a fallen tree trunk on the other side of the fire, waiting for the expected owl delivery. He wore his usual black trousers, vest, and white shirt, but had at last deigned to take off his black coat. While the three of them weren't exactly living rough, his formal frock coat was unequal to the rigors of tramping through the forest.  
  
As for Sirius Black, morosely poking the small fire as he sat beside Remus, he was evidently waiting for hell to freeze over before he stopped acting like a prat. "I still don't understand how you could have allowed Hermione to marry him," Sirius told his friend. "Hell, you should have married her instead!"  
  
Remus had been attempting to ignore him, having long since tired of explaining the situation, but the last accusation was a bit much.  
  
"Hermione Granger is going to have a baby, Padfoot. If you can think of a better alternative than having her marrying the actual father of that child, rather than a werewolf, then I'd be delighted to hear it." He shot his oldest friend an irritated look. "As a matter of fact, I'd be glad to hear just about anything as long as you quit whinging about it."  
  
They were distracted from their argument by the sight of a white owl winging through the late twilight, weaving through the trees and heading straight for them. Sirius held up his arm as a landing perch, but Harry's owl passed right by him and instead landed neatly on the log beside Severus and presented her leg.  
  
"Hedwig," Severus greeted the owl blandly, concealing any surprise by long practice. Untying the tightly rolled letters, he examined each. One bore the messy scrawl of Harry, and he flicked it over the flames to Sirius. The second, with Dumbledore's spidery hand, he gave to Remus. The third scroll had tidy round writing and was addressed to him.  
  
Remus opened his missive first, and quickly related with some relief the fact that Death Eaters had apparently taken Beltane night off and no attacks had been reported. The letter had other instructions, all to do with their assignment, though none of it was much of a surprise.  
  
Sirius laughed a bit as he read the letter from his godson, telling some of the amusing bits to Remus.  
  
Severus, however, was absorbed with the letter from Hermione. It wasn't long, containing only one nervous reference to the NEWTS, now only three weeks away. She told him how her new status was accepted and the occasional perks thereof, and the gift and correspondence she'd received from his mother. Fully half the sheet was used to ask a rather technical question on potions, and she ended it with one short, personal paragraph.  
  
I won't ask where you are, or when you'll be back, but I wanted you to know that I think of you often. I miss you.  
  
All my love,  
  
Hermione  
  
Across the fire, Black noticed the intense concentration with which Severus was reading his mail and could not pass up the opportunity. "What, another love letter from your schoolgirl bride? Tell me, does she sign it with X's and O's for hugs and kisses?"  
  
Severus merely arched an eyebrow at him, as if to ask if that was the best he could do.  
  
"You know," Sirius continued, "covert operation really means being covert. As in discreet. You can't be passing notes to your little girlfriend every afternoon, I think someone might notice."  
  
Having heard just about enough, Remus kicked Sirius where he judged it would do the most good.  
  
"Ow!" yelped Sirius quietly, rubbing his sore butt cheek. "What was that for?"  
  
"He's sent her one bloody letter in four weeks, Padfoot," Remus hissed back, taking care that his voice didn't carry over to the other side of the fire. "You've written to Harry three times! When are you going to bloody well grow up?"  
  
"I've spent twelve years in prison, Moony. It's called arrested development."  
  
"It's called being an arse. Get over it already. You're here, and I'm here. Don't you think it's time you forgive Severus for being here as well? Even if James isn't?"  
  
"How's that new wand working for you, Black?" Severus asked in a benign voice. He could hear the two of them yammering furtively at each other, presumably about himself, but really couldn't be bothered to wonder what the exact words were.  
  
One bitterly ironic side benefit of investigating Death Eaters and their activities was the wands which were sometimes overlooked. Some had belonged to the victims, and some were the wands of Death Eaters who wouldn't be needing them any longer after displeasing their Dark Lord. Dumbledore had a drawer full of them, and once school was over, Harry would be shown the collection in hopes of finding one that would work for him against Voldemort's.  
  
Sirius went red around the neck, and made no answer. It was highly humiliating to be reminded he owed his new wand to Severus' habit of pinching wands.  
  
"You see?" Remus added. "He found you a wand to use, for Merlin's sake!"  
  
"You sound like Harry," Black observed sourly.  
  
"Good," Lupin retorted. "I'd hate for Harry to sound like you."  
  
"You don't really expect me to be mates with him, do you? He hates us both."  
  
"And you tried to kill him, Padfoot. If Harry had ever pulled a stunt like that, you'd have flogged him senseless."  
  
Sirius had no answer to this. Instead he looked at the spare man across the fire from him, reading his parchment. The last few times they'd been forced to work together Severus Snape had been a tightly wound bundle of self control and buzzing nerves, all of which had been exhausting to be around. By contrast, the Potions Master actually appeared to be somewhat relaxed at the moment.  
  
"Do you realize you've never once said you're sorry for that horrid prank?" Remus asked.  
  
"I've said it dozens of times, Moony."  
  
"To me. Not to him." At Sirius' stubborn frown, Lupin sighed and gave up prodding. Instead, he raised his voice enough for Severus to hear him. "How is Hermione?" he asked genially. "She's not studying too hard, is she?"  
  
"Actually, she's come up with something of a brilliant idea," Severus told him, reading the central portion of the letter once more. "Professor Cluny made a particularly stupid comment in class, and they had a rather heated debate, you should forgive the pun, over the reaction of certain potions to the metal of their cauldron. She's hypothesizing that a cauldron made of glass would make certain potions much easier to brew. Such as the Wolfsbane potion," he added with deceptive mildness.  
  
"Would a non-reactive cauldron really make a difference?" Lupin asked immediately.  
  
"At the very least, it might make it more palatable, but I'm not sure. It will require some study, since silver is a major factor in the Wolfsbane, but all my references are at Hogwarts. For another matter, however, vessels made of glass would likely cut the frequency of cauldrons being melted by caustic reactions."  
  
"How can glass possibly withstand the heat?"  
  
"Apparently Muggles have developed a type of glass which will stand a tremendous amount of temperature stress. Hermione says her mother has a set of pots for the cooker, all made of this same glass."  
  
"What about breakage? Wouldn't a glass cauldron exploding be dangerous?"  
  
"Any worse than a pewter one? Actually, glass takes unbreakable charms much easier than metal, and if I remember correctly, glass cuts respond to healing charms better as well, since the shards leave less trace elements behind in the wound. Another point to research. Damn it all, I need my references." He made a mental note to direct Hermione towards Madame Pomfrey on the medical question, and to question Flitwick regarding the unbreakable charm.  
  
"Where would we get this - what is it called?" Black asked, curious despite himself.  
  
"Pyrex." Severus searched the letter again. "She's not sure. Says she'll have to contact Percy Weasley. Apparently he's some sort of expert on cauldron imports."  
  
Turning his shoulder on his two compatriots, Severus leaned against a tree and re-read the letter again. In the weeks since he'd seen Hermione, he'd ceased to be appalled at how often he thought of her. Waking or sleeping, she was never far from his thoughts. Whenever his eyes shut, memories overwhelmed him: of her face, her laugh, and that stubborn, Gryffindor temperament that both annoyed and engaged him. He reviewed their long conversations and considered new ones, imagining how she'd react to the many things he wanted to share with her. More than anything, Severus simply wanted to see her again.  
  
Dumbledore had swore himself hoarse promising he'd notify Severus if anything should happen to Hermione or the baby. His baby. He was going to be a father, and that thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. Soon, within two months, Hermione would give birth to his child. And within himself, Severus Snape was discovering a steely determination to see his child born, grow up, and live in a world that was safe from the depredations of the psychopathic monster to which he'd once swore allegiance.  
  
A hand bumped his shoulder, and Severus opened his eyes with a start.  
  
"Pinkus is back," Black told him, holding up the tattletale plastic cork charmed to light up when their quarry opened his front door. The blob of white plastic was glowing in the gloomy light under the trees.  
  
The three of them stole quickly through the trees, circling around to the front of Sidney Pinkus' tiny cottage, where the novice Death Eater spent one weekend a month on what he told his wife was a spiritual retreat. In reality, the man met his mistress on the first Saturday of each month, regular as clockwork.  
  
This month, however, he'd had to leave the witch fuming and unfulfilled while answering his master's summons. While it might have been detrimental to Pinkus' love life, Sirius Black had Apparated there earlier in the evening, once the man had left, and informed the mistress of the wife's imminent and entirely fictitious arrival. The mistress had departed post haste.  
  
"Idiot hasn't even set a ward," Severus hissed with contempt. With Black and Lupin behind him, he strode to the front door of the little cottage and unceremoniously kicked the door in.  
  
"Pinkus," he exclaimed genially, his wand pointed at the startled man. Pinkus dropped the silver mask he'd been bundling up in a gray robe. "How have you been, old son? Well, I hope?"  
  
"S-S-Snape!" Sidney stuttered. "I thought you were dead!"  
  
"No such thing," Severus replied. "Allow me to not introduce my companions. Don't worry, they're no loss as conversationalists. It's you I want to talk to."  
  
"About what?" he asked nervously, eyeing the two men behind his fellow Death Eater. Past experience had shown the three operatives that the threatening presence of one spokesman backed by two silent, menacing figures created a more powerful impression than three separate speakers with highly antagonistic personalities.  
  
Severus smiled without teeth, settling onto a piece of the rough furniture. "Many things. Voldemort, for starters."  
  
Sidney Pinkus was not the first nor the last Death Eater identified by the Order who might have had second thoughts about taking the Dark Mark. While Voldemort required warm bodies to build an army, he could not watch each and every one of them as closely as he perhaps should have. And every one that saw Severus Snape alive, out of the clutches of his former companions and walking about hale and healthy was another Death Eater who would question the unthinking allegiance demanded by Voldemort.  
  
It was tedious and nerve-wracking work, and progress was measured in tiny increments. But each Death Eater who doubted was a crack in the crucible of Voldemort's power. Day after day the three men, in one form or another, did all within their power to eat away at Voldemort's support. And even those who resisted Snape's carefully thought out propaganda could be overwhelmed, dosed with Veritaserum, and then Obliviated after being thoroughly interrogated.  
  
As it turned out, Severus Snape had discovered he did, indeed, share at least one characteristic with Remus Lupin and Severus Black. They were all three quite capable of ruthlessness, and all three had their consciences on a short leash. Those consciences sat up or laid down on command, and had been known to play dead with convincing ease.  
  
******  
  
The final Hogsmeade weekend of the year was announced for the first full weekend of June. Hermione had not originally planned to go, buried as she was in the NEWTS studying that occupied nearly every waking moment, but Ron and Harry were persistent. Refusing to take no for an answer, they practically kidnapped her from her books and finally bullied her out of the castle for the first time in far too long.  
  
Once out in the fresh air and bright sunshine, Hermione took a deep breath and forgave her friends immediately. The day was far too fine to pass up, and her long dormant appetite sat up and began instantly clamoring for Honeydukes' nougat.  
  
They joined the other Hogwarts students on the path down to the village, robes flapping in the breeze and voices raised in enthusiastic innocence. Ron was extolling the virtues of the latest racing broom, arguing with Harry about innovations he endorsed and Harry did not.  
  
"We can ask Gudgeon when we get to the broom shop," Ron said finally. "He'll set you right."  
  
"And you're going to be on the cover of Witch Weekly," Harry retorted sarcastically. "Gudgeon knows better."  
  
"Oh, honestly," Hermione exclaimed. "If you think I'm going to spend an hour standing around while you two argue about brooms, you're very much mistaken."  
  
"Oh, and you expect us to wait while you go through every shelf at the bookstore?" Ron retorted.  
  
"All right," Hermione told him. "No bookstore. But I do want to visit another shop, and I don't want to hear any complaining."  
  
"Deal," Harry told her. "And don't worry, we won't spend too long looking at brooms. We've got to be back to school before three this afternoon."  
  
"We do?" Hermione asked, surprised.  
  
"'Course we do," Ron told her. "Didn't you read the notice?"  
  
"All liberty weekends were short this year," Harry added. "Especially.well, especially after Halloween," he finished sympathetically. "And Dumbledore specifically wanted to be sure today doesn't have any surprises."  
  
Harry nodded minutely towards the wizard lounging against a wall, reading a Daily Prophet and apparently ignoring the foot traffic around him. With newly observant eyes, Hermione saw the casually loitering wizards and witches along High Street, not on every corner but nearly.  
  
"Aurors," Harry mouthed in her ear. "They're all off-duty volunteers. They've come here every time there's a Hogsmeade weekend, as a favor to Professor Dumbledore."  
  
Suppressing a shiver and a rather uncharitable thought about hindsight, Hermione acquiesced to a short expedition and meekly followed her friends into the workshop that smelled of sawdust, green twig sap, and varnish.  
  
Ron and the shop proprietor immediately began discussing the broom in question. To Ron's chagrin, Dave Gudgeon supported Harry's position that the designers had been tweaking what should have been left well enough alone. With smug, superior air, Harry let the debate rage on without him and found a stool for Hermione. She took a seat and made herself comfortable, expecting Harry to begin some extensive browsing. Somewhat to her surprise he remained at her side, though his fingers wandered over a stack of printed sheets on a nearby rack.  
  
"What's that?" she asked, indicating the papers that held his attention.  
  
"Professional Quidditch schedule," he told her, showing one of the sheets with the colorful emblems of the various teams. The Chudley Cannons' orange design was easy to pick out after years of listening to Ron, but she recognized a few others as well. Seemingly entranced, Harry gazed at the glossy sheet, his finger running down the list of game dates and times. "I got an owl from the English Quidditch Association," he confessed softly.  
  
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed happily, but he cut off her enthusiasm with a short chop of his hand.  
  
"Don't," he told her. "I haven't told Ron. They wanted me to declare myself an eligible player; apparently the professional teams can't start any recruiting, even for a rookie player, unless they're listed."  
  
"That's wonderful! The season doesn't start for months, right? So there must be some teams already wanting you to play for them!"  
  
Harry pushed up his glasses. "Training camps start October first. But I'm not going to sign unless everything else works out first."  
  
Appalled, Hermione stared at him. "Harry, you can't put your life on hold waiting for Voldemort. You can't!"  
  
"I'm not waiting for him," Harry confided. "As soon as school is over, I'm going on the offensive."  
  
Hermione cast about to be sure no one could hear them. "Are you out of your mind? This is Voldemort we're talking about! He's got an army of Death Eaters at his beck and call!"  
  
"I don't care, Hermione. It's not just me anymore, you know that. The Ministry can deny things until they're all blue in the face, but it's gone too far to be ignored. Dumbledore has a lot of contacts in the Aurors, and they're all disgusted with how Fudge is running things. Once we figure out where he's hiding, we're going to take the fight to him."  
  
"You can't even stand up straight when he's around you!" Hermione protested. "Your scar hurts too much! What are you going to do about that?" Harry grimaced; his scar had been red and burning off and on for months, and was a constant source of headaches. "Not to mention your wands don't work against each other!"  
  
"All right, I'm not saying there aren't a couple of problems to figure out." Hermione snorted indelicately. "But I'm sick of this, Hermione," he said, his sincerity evident in tense lines of his wiry frame. "I'm tired of hearing about Death Eater attacks, and I'm tired of being afraid. No one else is going to go through what you have. I swear it."  
  
Hermione frowned, dubious. "What does Professor Dumbledore say?"  
  
Harry shoved his glasses up. "He doesn't agree with going on the offensive, but if you'll notice the final schedule came out last week. The end of term is the 19th of June, and the Express will take everyone home on the twentieth. We don't really expect Voldemort to do anything until later this summer, but if he wants to make a show of some sort on the Summer Solstice, at least there won't be any students around to be hurt."  
  
"And then what?"  
  
"And then I go to war," Harry said grimly.  
  
This is the end, Hermione realized as she stared at the slender, black- haired young man before her. The end of an age. A stark thought, perhaps, but true. The last carefree afternoon, and the last Hogsmeade weekend. Once the students returned to the castle, the remainder of term would be spent in furious preparation for finals, and, for her and her fellow seventh-years, the NEWTS.  
  
She was reminded of a folk song she'd once memorized about three friends enjoying a wonderful day. The Summer before the War, it was called, and the song's melancholy joy echoed in her heart as Harry waited for her to argue. Instead, she slid off her perch and hugged Harry awkwardly, pressing her face against his shoulder in an attempt to keep her tears from surfacing.  
  
"Be careful," she whispered.  
  
Harry's arms tightened around her briefly. "I will," he promised.  
  
"What is this?" Ron's voice intruded, making them both pull back. "He's already spoken for, Hermione, but I can't blame you for wanting to trade up."  
  
Hermione pulled back from Harry's embrace, and although it took every ounce of courage and resolve she had, she summoned a brilliant smile. "Sod off," she told him cheerfully.  
  
Ron's jaw dropped at the casual profanity, making both Harry and Hermione to laugh. At that moment, she formed the determination that today, if it were to be their last carefree day together, the three of them would have as much fun as could possibly be had.  
  
"C'mon," she told them. "Let's go to Zonko's."  
  
It was Harry's turn to gape at her. "Hermione, are you feeling all right?"  
  
"I'm fine," she insisted, tucking her hand through each one's arm. "I just want to get it over with. Is that all right?"  
  
Fred and George Weasley had refused to admit how much money they'd invested at Zonko's, or even where they'd gotten the Galleons to begin with, but somehow the twins had convinced the elderly Mr. Zonko to allow himself to be bought out over time. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes currently occupied only a few tables in the crowded shop, and the twins were learning the intricacies of the business world under the indulgent eye of Zonko himself. Once the Wheezes were in full production, Zonko planned to retire and leave the shop to the younger generation of jokesters. Until then, he had someone to do the early openings and late closings and any other unpleasantness while he acted as an advisor. All three parties were particularly pleased with the arrangement, especially the gentleman who was now free to go fishing whenever the trout were running.  
  
The twins were thrilled to see their brother and his friends, and their plans for refurbishing the shop were soon sketched out on the back of a sales flyer. They hoped to accomplish the work over the summer, in time for the new school year and all the eager students.  
  
"Put this in one of Snape's potions," Fred said eagerly, holding out one of his new ideas, a suspicious-looking cylinder in bright fuscia paper. "Foaming Fantasies. Based on the Boggart principle, but the exact opposite. Dissolves instantly in any liquid, then makes a foam that assumes the shape of the closest person's fantasy snog. That'll take the starch out of the old bat!"  
  
"If it works," Hermione said dangerously. "And if it does work, it bloody well better look like me." She smiled sweetly at the horrified look on Fred Weasley's face as he suddenly remembered the latest gossip from the school. "Besides, he doesn't teach Potions any longer. Haven't you heard?"  
  
"We heard," George interjected, giving his twin a sound wallop on the back of the head. "Congratulations, Hermione. Always knew you had better sense than to hook up with our baby brother."  
  
"Get stuffed, George," Ron told his sibling. "I see you haven't found your Dream Witch, either. Mum's beginning to wonder if you're Beating for the other team."  
  
"He's not," Fred said quickly. "Just last week I caught him trying to sneak up the back stairs with this amazing bit of MMfhh!"  
  
"He's lost his mind," George supplied easily, his hand holding his twin's mouth shut. "There's no girl. Really."  
  
"Her name's Felicity," Fred shouted as he got his mouth free. George immediately jabbed with his elbow, and the two were off. Ron, Hermione and Harry watched the pair scuffle with some interest but no concern, since this same scene repeated every time one had a girlfriend and the other did not.  
  
"If I had any money, I'd bet on Fred," Ron offered.  
  
"No," Harry replied casually. "George, definitely."  
  
"How will you be able to tell?" quipped Hermione.  
  
In the end, one of the twins yelped in real pain. The other apologized glibly.  
  
"Apology accepted, you git," said the first, and the spat was over until next time. Unfortunately, since they were wearing matching sweaters, it was impossible to now tell which was Fred and which was George.  
  
"Let's go," Ron said finally, after another fruitless round of trying to tell the identical idiots apart. "Sorry, mates, but we're meeting Dean and some of the team in a bit."  
  
As a farewell token, the twins handed Ron and Harry each a bag of their latest mischief. "Be sure to read the directions," warned Fred (or it might have been George) as the trio went out the door.  
  
To Ron and Harry's relief, Hermione reiterated her intention to pass on visiting the bookstore. That gratitude was exhausted soon after as they tagged along, red-faced and fidgety, while Hermione went through soft blankets, little robes and tiny pointed hats at Wee Wizards and Witches.  
  
Since she didn't know yet if she'd need the pink or blue version of the little robes, Hermione restrained herself. Also, the thought of Severus' face when he eventually saw the purchases helped her steer away from the more saccharine ducks and unicorns patterns. She settled for buying a few light robes in pale green and some small yellow blankets with red piping along the edges.  
  
"Poor kid's going to clash something awful," commented Ron. "Only time he'll look good is during Christmas."  
  
Honeydukes was next, where Hermione bought herself an obscene amount of nougat in hopes it would last her through the end of the year. Not likely, she thought, since she knew she was perfectly capable of consuming a huge quantity when the craving hit her in the middle of the night.  
  
Once they finally made it to the Three Broomsticks, they found most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team there ahead of them. Natalie McDonald, Harry's fourth-year chaser, had commandeered a large table for everyone. A bit short for a chaser and altogether too delicate-looking, Natalie was a demon on a broom and Harry's hand-picked replacement for the captain of the team next year.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione piled in with the rest of the team, laughing at silly jokes and making outrageous proclamations in turn. Butterbeers were ordered, though Hermione had to shout to get Madame Rosemerta's attention when she wanted an apple cider instead. Her fellow Gryffindors immediately began teasing her, making thinly veiled references to her weight and girth and how that change had come about.  
  
"Personally, I'd rather think about Hagrid's sex life," Ron confessed loudly. "The last thing I want to imagine is you and Snape!"  
  
"Well, you'd have to imagine things, wouldn't you?" Hermione returned tartly, safely ensconced in the position of a woman who'd obviously had more sex than anyone else at the table. "You don't even have a sex life!"  
  
"Hermione!" Ron protested. Hermione shrugged, unsympathetic. If you can't torture your best friends, who could you torture? Harry sniggered loudly amidst the shared laughter of the others, which earned a sour look from Ron.  
  
"What are you laughing about, mate?" Ron demanded. "You and Ginny haven't gotten up to anything, either!"  
  
"You believe that if it makes you feel better," Natalie told him. "Right, Hermione?"  
  
Hermione grinned at the blush on both Harry and Ron's faces as they both waited to hear what she'd say; one hoping for denial, the other hoping for some discretion on her part.  
  
"I don't know for sure that Harry is shagging Ginny," she began, aware of her audience. "But if I had to guess."  
  
A chorus of 'oohs' rose from her audience when Hermione smiled knowingly and waggled her eyebrows, conveying with her expression what she did not want to say aloud.  
  
"To Ginny!" exclaimed Natalie, holding up her glass. Harry's glass was the first of many to join the toast, which quickly got out of hand and resulted in spilled butterbeer all over the table amidst laughter and all other manner of silliness.  
  
Just before three o'clock, the merry group broke up and made their way back to the castle. Somewhat tired and unable to walk quite as fast as she used, Hermione fell behind the others. Ron and Harry kept pace with her, talking and laughing about nothing in particular as the three of them walked up the path. Their familiar presence, the cadence of their jokes and conversation, all combined to fill Hermione with a sense of happy peace. She was content to listen to them, adding an occasional comment but more than anything simply enjoying their company.  
  
In the distance, a furtive figure appeared on the path in front of them and spoke briefly to the students ahead. As the person came closer, they realized it was Colin Creevey.  
  
"Filch," he called breathlessly as he came within earshot. "If you've got anything you want to keep, you'd better figure out how to hide it. He's in a right mood, and he's heard about your brothers' new stuff. The bugger's confiscating everything."  
  
Harry and Ron gave each other a horrified look. Then they looked at the bag in Hermione's hands.  
  
"No, No, Not like that!" Hermione told them seconds later. "Honestly, haven't you two learned anything from the twins? Take out the baby blanket, THEN put in your stuff."  
  
When they reached the entrance to the castle it was to find Argus Filch standing guard in front of the huge door. He looked remarkably like the last seedy retainer of a great king, determined to defend the castle until his last breath. The caretaker turned a rheumy eye on Harry and Ron, who shrugged and pulled their pockets out to prove they were empty.  
  
Hacking in disbelief, he then looked suspiciously towards Hermione. "Been shopping, 'ave you? And wha' 'ave you got there?"  
  
"Just some things for the baby," she told the stringy caretaker, giving him the sweetest, most innocent look in her arsenal. "I've got the most darling little robes," she gushed.  
  
Behind her, Harry elbowed Ron, who had made a choking noise and looked close to losing his lunch.  
  
"I really need to go lie down," she announced to no one in particular. "My back is absolutely killing me." She put one hand in the small of her back and stretched, accentuating her front, then winced. "Oooh. Harry. The baby's kicking. Want to feel?"  
  
Although Harry's glasses slid down his nose as a dubious expression crossed his face, it was barely noticeable compared to the unease displayed by Filch. He hemmed and cleared his throat, his stubbly, creased cheeks blanching gray as he was confronted with the round evidence of Hermione's condition.  
  
"Get on wi' yeh," he grumbled finally, turning aside with a visible shudder.  
  
Once safely inside, Ron and Harry burst out laughing. "Who would have thought Filch would be squeamish about a baby?" Ron demanded in disbelief. "Considering how many students he's probably caught snogging over the years!"  
  
"Ha," Hermione proclaimed, ponderously climbing the stairs ahead of them. "I've noticed neither one of you have had the nerve to try and feel the baby moving." Her female classmates flocked to her side to feel the elusive flutterings, but most of the male Gryffindors acted as though they'd catch something if they went anywhere near Hermione. Seamus Finnegan was the lone exception, but he and Lavender were understandably intrigued.  
  
"Hermione!" protested Ron soundly. "That's Snape's baby. Do you really think I want to feel his kid moving inside you?"  
  
"FINE," she told him, affecting a slightly hurt manner. "Be that way." Nose in the air, oddly reminiscent of the telling off she'd given them as first-years, Hermione turned on her heel and started up the next flight of stairs with all the dignity of a galleon setting sail.  
  
"Git," Harry told Ron, disgusted, slowly climbing the stairs in Hermione's wake.  
  
"Get off it, Harry. Do you want to feel that kid moving?"  
  
"Not really," Harry admitted. "But she's still got our stuff."  
  
Leaning over the railing a flight above them, Hermione called down. "Hey! What's the first charm you two ever learned?"  
  
Ron's face screwed up, but Harry answered. "Wingardium Leviosa. Why?"  
  
"Think fast!" Hermione shouted as she chucked their packages over the stair.  
  
*****  
  
On a Friday afternoon a few weeks later, Hermione went straight to her rooms, stripped off the creased and stale school uniform and threw herself on the bed wearing nothing but her horrid maternity panties and an old cotton tee-shirt. The exams she'd both dreaded and eagerly looked forward to for the last two years were finally over - she'd just completed the very last NEWT she'd ever have to take. The release from the stress of anticipating the exams was finally over, and the stress of worrying about her results had not yet set in. In the valley between, Hermione wanted nothing more than to collapse into the oblivion of exhausted sleep her body demanded.  
  
The nap was fairly short, but when Hermione slowly awoke she felt wonderfully rested. Snuggling into the cozy nest of her blankets, she could almost imagine a warm body next to hers. The imaginary body had a long arm which drifted over her gravid belly, drawing her against a lean, strong chest.  
  
It had to be a dream, Hermione thought, and she didn't want to wake up until a familiar, insistent pressure against her derriere prompted her to arch back against him. Severus let out a low, deep chuckle as she inhaled sharply, fully awake. His lips grazed her ear and traced down the length of her neck, pressing soft kisses on the tender nape.  
  
With a whimper she rolled abruptly and pulled his mouth to hers, frantic with relief that he was here, safe and whole.  
  
"When did you get back?" she asked when she finally allowed him to breath again.  
  
"This morning," he told her simply.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment before kissing him softly once more. "Thank you," she murmured against his lips. If she'd known that he were in the castle, she'd never have been able to concentrate on her examinations.  
  
"You're welcome," he told her sincerely, while congratulating himself on guessing correctly. He'd been sure she'd have preferred it this way, but a part of him had worried, needlessly as it turned out, that she might have wanted to know the instant he came back to the castle.  
  
With a frown, Hermione pulled her head back and looked at him critically. "What is this?" She demanded as she grabbed at the inch or so of black growth on his chin.  
  
"Let go," Severus told her, pulling her hand away but grinning rakishly. Hermione gave him an arched eyebrow. He'd obviously been outdoors quite a bit recently; his arms were tan from the elbows down, and his face was full of healthy color above the scraggly beard.  
  
"Now you do look like a Pikey."  
  
"Exactly. And look," he told her, plucking his shirt from where it lay draped at the foot of the bed. The rough fabric looked like homespun, and was dingy beige in color.  
  
Laughing helplessly, Hermione collapsed back onto the mattress, putting one hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the giggles. Severus scowled theatrically. When that failed to intimidate her, he contended himself with merely looking at the woman who had haunted his thoughts for the past month. Her hair was as curly as ever, and despite the shadows circling under her eyes, her face had filled out a little, along with the rest of her. Her collarbones no longer protruded painfully, and the extra curves further down were nice to see.  
  
With something akin to reverence he drew the sheet off her torso and pushed up the cotton shirt to see her belly, his hand gently tracing the curved surface. A hearty movement beneath his hand startled him. Peering closely, he could actually see the surface of her skin move from the child within.  
  
"You're huge," he murmured.  
  
"So much for pillow talk," Hermione said with another chuckle.  
  
He watched as a lump rose on one side of her belly and traversed several inches before subsiding under the dark line that ran from her bellybutton down. "Active little beggar," he commented.  
  
"Always, especially in the middle of the afternoon. I was trying to take my Arithmancy final the other day and he gave me the hiccups."  
  
One black eyebrow went up as if to say, 'So?'  
  
"You try to concentrate with a double case of the hiccups," she challenged. "And there are some days I could swear he has some mates over for Cossack dancing."  
  
Severus dropped a kiss on the smooth skin before moving up to kiss Hermione with all the longing he'd withheld earlier. She responded eagerly, hooking one ankle around his trouser-clad leg and pulling him as close as possible. The renewed pressure against her hip was familiar and sent a stab of longing through her.  
  
To her surprise, Severus pulled back, groaning. "I apologize, Hermione. I know you're not up to this."  
  
"Says who?" she demanded. "I'll have you know, Professor," she began in her most pedantic lecturing tones, "that I've done significant amount of research on this subject." She nodded towards the stack of books on her bedside table, most obtained by Cecilia Granger from the huge health section of their local Muggle bookstore. "Did you know a woman's body creates a dam of sorts behind the cervix? Nothing gets out, nothing gets in, and it doesn't go anywhere until she goes into labor."  
  
He regarded her steadily. "So you're saying it's all right?"  
  
"What I'm saying, Professor, that you'd best stop being so damned noble if you know what's good for you."  
  
Severus grinned, but addressed his next comments to the expansive rise of her belly. "You're going to have to be quiet for a bit now. I've got some plans for your mother."  
  
"Really?" asked Hermione archly.  
  
"Really," he murmured, moving up to kiss her thoroughly and tugging at the hem of her shirt. Hermione ducked to allow him to draw the shirt over her head, and then moaned at the feel of his hands as they cupped her achingly full breasts.  
  
For a moment she worried that he might find her current size unattractive or even revolting, but she quickly gave up the effort to think clearly and settled for feeling instead. Severus lay beside her on the bed, stroking, touching, apparently intent on rediscovering the texture and taste of every inch of her skin. Her stretchy knickers rolled down her hips and thighs, becoming a twisted rope that disappeared without a second thought into the tangle of bedclothes. At his whispered urging she rolled to her side, away from him, and he pulled her back towards his chest.  
  
Hermione leaned into his strength, touching what she could of his arms as he ran his hands over her, teasing and arousing her until she whimpered with frustration. With a low chuckle at her impatience, Severus at last pushed her upper leg higher and reared over her, sliding into her from behind, his firm grip on her hip letting him control their gentle movement. Hermione pushed back, arching her spine to allow him deeper access. They rocked together, his fingers stroking her intimately from the front even as he surged into her from the back, his other arm cradling her firmly against him. Their passion mounted until Hermione gasped and clenched around him, feeling her womb tighten with the ecstasy that cascaded through her body. With a heavy groan, Severus joined her, breathing his completion on the back of her neck.  
  
When she could move again, Hermione shifted around to lay her head on his shoulder, putting one knee across his thigh to ease the pressure on her hips. His arm held her close, his hand stroking the small of her back and the side of her belly where it supported the extra weight of their child. The full curve of her stomach pressed in against his waist.  
  
"I see what you mean," he muttered after receiving his third swift kick in a minute.  
  
"Told you," Hermione said quietly. "I don't suppose you mind terribly, making love to a beach ball?"  
  
"Of course not," Severus replied smoothly. "After all, it's my beach ball." He raised an eyebrow as the baby, obviously displeased with being called a beach ball, kicked him in the kidney again. Hermione began to move away, but he tightened his arm around her to prevent it and she relaxed against him once more. Without conscious thought, he pulled her as close as possible and dropped a kiss on the curly head tucked under his chin.  
  
"I've missed you," he said quietly, and Hermione felt a tear come to her eye as she realized how much it must have cost him to say those words. She tightened her arm across his chest and nestled into his side, terribly glad to be with him again.  
  
"Hermione," Severus called softly.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
His free hand found hers where it lay on his chest and toyed with the sapphire and diamond ring on her finger. "Would you consider going to meet my mother after you graduate?"  
  
"Of course. Oh, wait. That's in Italy, right?"  
  
"Yes. Near Rome."  
  
"No, actually, I think you'll have to twist my arm a little harder," she laughed. "I'd love to go to Rome. Can we stay for a few days?"  
  
"Certainly. Maybe even a week or more."  
  
"Umm." Hermione's legs stretched languorously. "Rome in summer."  
  
"I might need to leave you for a bit and take care of an errand for Albus," he warned her in an absent voice.  
  
"You won't be gone long?"  
  
"No, of course not," he answered, just a hair too swiftly.  
  
She shifted in his embrace. "You're lying."  
  
"No! Why would I lie?"  
  
"Good question. Why don't you give me a good answer?" She lifted herself to one elbow so she could look him in the eye. "Tell me."  
  
"Hermione. I can't-"  
  
She cut him off. "You bloody well can, or I'm not stepping a single foot out-"  
  
"You'll jolly well do what you're told!" he interrupted in turn, his onyx eyes snapping with anger.  
  
"Don't you even try to take that tone with me, Severus! I've never left Harry when he needed me, and I'm not leaving you!"  
  
"You're nearly eight months pregnant," he told her vehemently, sitting up. "Any contribution you could make is outweighed by how vulnerable you are."  
  
The furious light in her eye let him know he'd really stepped in it this time. "If you think being pregnant makes me a useless liability."  
  
"No, that's not what I meant." Letting out a groan of frustration, he pulled her resisting body closer to him and leaned forward until his face was buried against her neck. His black hair drifted across her skin as he shook his head.  
  
"Please-PLEASE listen to me. I can't think properly if I know you're here where you might get hurt. I cannot take that risk." He swallowed hard, his hands tightening on her. "I'm asking you to stay safe, Hermione. I need to know that you and our child will be safe."  
  
"What about after I have the baby?" she asked truculently. "What then?"  
  
Severus raised his head to look at her, a wary look on his face. "It is highly likely that by the time you're up and around again, it should all be over, one way or the other. If the worst comes to pass, my mother will be able hide you both and protect you."  
  
Frowning in confusion, Hermione searched his expression. "Don't tell me that bat in her tower of denial has made some prophecy?"  
  
"Trelawney didn't make this prediction," he told her, a smile tugging at his mouth. Despite her skepticism, he found himself telling Hermione about the prophecy. She did not argue when he claimed ignorance of the actual words, and in return Severus did not tell her that Dumbledore was currently putting his affairs in order.  
  
"How long?" Hermione asked, finally.  
  
"We're not sure. Before the end of this summer, most likely in August."  
  
"Harry's birthday is the 31 of July," she added pensively. "I'm due the week after that."  
  
Severus kissed the tender skin below her ear rather than voice the possibility that Harry Potter would not live more than a month beyond his eighteenth birthday. At this exact moment, his most selfish, desperate desire was to see his child born before the final battle, to just once hold the tiny life in his hands before going to a battle that he had little hope of surviving.  
  
He was gratified when Hermione relaxed against him, her hand drawing small patterns on his arm as she stared at nothing, deep in thought.  
  
"I'll go to Italy," she agreed at last. "But I want you to swear you'll let me know what's going on."  
  
"I will," he told her, having no intention of passing along any possibly devastating information until after she'd delivered. More than one woman had gone into premature labor after having been wildly upset by bad news. Honesty could wait until after the baby was safely born.  
  
"When are you leaving?" she asked, her voice going thick as the war reasserted itself on their private interlude.  
  
Her husband sighed. "I have only today, but I will try to make it back to the graduation, if just to give the rest of the staff heart failure."  
  
Hermione giggled damply. "But I have you for today, right?" she sniffled even as she asked the question.  
  
Severus tilted her face towards his, hating the pain he caused as her eyes welled with tears. "Yes, of course," he told her softly.  
  
A single teardrop ran over Hermione's cheek, glistening as it streaked to her lip. One day, she thought, just like before. A single span of time to wring as much enjoyment as possible from. Carpe Diem, indeed.  
  
Severus meant only to kiss her, reassure her and stop her bursting into tears, but the salt taste was like an aphrodisiac in his mouth. His lips sought hers hungrily, and Hermione responded in turn. She resisted his attempts to turn her, instead pressing him back to the pillows and moving over him.  
  
They made love once more, her body over his, round with pregnancy. Her fingers clutched almost painfully at his shoulders as her full breasts swayed with her movements, nipples plump and swollen as ripe raspberries. Lying beneath his wife, Severus' passion was tinged with awe. She was an Earth Goddess, fertile and beautiful, her curls cascading over her shoulders and her head thrown back in bittersweet ecstasy.  
  
*****  
  
Two hours later, when Harry Potter knocked on Hermione's door to see if she were coming down to dinner, he was shocked to hear a man's deep voice shout "Bugger off!" and Hermione's unmistakable laughter.  
  
Somewhat dazed, Harry obediently buggered off and made his way down to the hall, where he took his place next to Ron.  
  
"Is Hermione coming?" Ron asked.  
  
Harry stabbed his fork into his dinner. "Did you absolutely have to say it that way?" he asked.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
The late June sun was barely up when a heavy pounding on her door woke Hermione from a deep sleep. Stumbling across the room, avoiding the packing scattered on the floor as she dragged on her robe, she opened the door and managed to mumble "What?" around a massive yawn.  
  
"We're going down to the pitch and fly for a while. Want to come?" asked Harry, looking disgustedly awake. His Firebolt was tucked under one arm and he was tugging his flying gloves on as he spoke. His hair was worse than usual and looked like a hedgehog caught in a windstorm.  
  
"Have you two even slept?" Hermione demanded. She'd fallen asleep in the middle of the traditional seventh-year party the night before, despite the surrounding voices of their classmates, all of whom were reluctant to leave the celebration and acknowledge the end of their school days at Hogwarts. It had been well after midnight when Harry and Ron had all but carried her from the Gryffindor common room back to the Head Girl's suite and put her to bed.  
  
"'Course we slept," chimed in Ron. His red Quidditch robes were slung over his shoulder. "I've had at least three hours meself."  
  
Despite herself, Hermione smiled as she leaned against her door. "Honestly. You're both worse that Hagrid. I half expect to see the two of you clutching some old Gryffindor banner and howling like banshees on the train this afternoon."  
  
"You are coming on the train today, aren't you?" Ron demanded suddenly. "It wouldn't be the same without you."  
  
"Yes, of course. Severus sent me a letter a few days ago saying he didn't think he'd make it to graduation after all, so my parents are going to pick me up at the station. I'll be staying at their house for a few days, then he's taking me to meet his mother."  
  
Ron shuddered. "Snape's mum. There's something to give you nightmares."  
  
"Her letters were very nice," Hermione objected. "And she's my mother-in- law, so I'll have to make the best of it, won't I?"  
  
"If you say so," interjected Harry, heading off the argument. "Are you coming down or aren't you? If we hurry we could have one last visit to Hagrid, as well."  
  
"All right. Let me get dressed and I'll be right there."  
  
The two exchanged a look, to Hermione's exasperation. "Oh, stop it. It's the last day of school. I'm perfectly capable of getting down to the pitch by myself. Go on -- I'll be down in five minutes. Just to watch, mind you. I'm not allowed on a broom these days."  
  
Ron smirked. "The way you fly, you shouldn't be allowed on a broom anyway." Harry punched him on the shoulder, saving Hermione the trouble of responding.  
  
"I'll be down soon," she promised.  
  
The young men waved and headed down the corridor, laughing and jostling each other deliberately. Hermione shut the door and went to her bathroom, devoutly hoping she hadn't packed her hairbrush accidentally.  
  
Five minutes later she'd cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair, and was settling a loose maternity gown over her bulging abdomen when another fist began pounding at her door. Exasperated, she yanked the door open.  
  
"I don't even have my shoes on yet!" she scolded, and abruptly broke off when she saw who stood at her door.  
  
It wasn't Harry.  
  
  
  
  
  
*****  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Connie Dover is one of the artists who has recorded "The Summer Before the War." It's been years since I've heard it and I can't quite remember the words, but they go something like this:  
  
All on a Saturday, bright as a bell, Early and just for the ride. We took a trip, cycling down to the sea, You and your lady and I. Down through the narrow lanes Chasing the slow trains And the last of an age going by. One day, at Whitesun, the sea and the shore The summer before the war.  
  
CARPE DIEM means "seize the day." (And that translation, for once, I'm sure of! :P )  
  
And no, I've never been to the Lake District. I've never been outside the continental United States. But according to the web site I found, Broughton Moor is a "secluded forest set in dramatic scenery is to be found approximately five miles south-east of the village of Coniston. Access is by the unclassified public road from Torver to Broughton Mills. Two car parks offer fine views south to the Duddon Estuary whilst the third car park is close by the ancient settlement known as "The Hawk".  
  
Sounds marvelous. 


	19. Chapter 19

Sweating and pleasantly exhilarated, Harry looped his elbow over the broomstick across his neck and laughed at Ron's antics as he wrestled the bludger back into the equipment case. Ron was nearly as dirty, his red hair sticking up in windblown clumps. He opened his mouth to throw back a smart-aleck reply, and left it open as his eyes slid past Harry to the figure striding angrily down the hill.  
  
Like the bat they used to call him, Severus Snape's robes billowed around him like expansive black wings as he swooped down towards them. Dressed head to toe in the repressive costume of a Potions Master, Severus' stern demeanor was incredibly intimidating, and his anger was a palpable force as he stopped in front of them. Harry dropped the broom to his side as black eyes pinned them both.  
  
"Where is my wife?" he demanded in a voice colder than winter. Harry and Ron exchanged looks of shock that quickly changed to dread and dismay.  
  
Minutes later the three of them were examining Hermione's empty room. Snape's expression was even more forbidding as he retrieved Hermione's wand from the pocket of her formal robes, carefully laid out over a chair for the graduation ceremony planned for the early afternoon.  
  
"Nothing's changed," Harry told him, looking at the books and trunk stacked on the floor. "She didn't move anything. Her nightgown is right there," he pointed at the unmade bed, where Crookshanks lay glaring at them all, his tail lashing back and forth, "and her toothbrush is wet."  
  
"So where is she?" asked Ron to the room at large. It was the fifth or sixth time the question had been asked, so no one bothered to make an answer.  
  
"We need the Maurader's Map," Harry said firmly.  
  
"That will not be of any use, Mr. Potter." Albus Dumbledore, looking far graver than anyone had seen him in a very long time, stood just inside the door with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin at his side. Wordlessly the old wizard held out a cylinder of parchment, bound with a black ribbon.  
  
"This was just delivered to my attention, Severus, but it is addressed to you," he said, his voice full of sorrow and foreboding.  
  
Severus strode forward and all but snatched the parchment. The small wax seal broke with a snap and he tugged impatiently at the black ribbon, only to pause when he felt something hard within the loops. Holding it up, he found Hermione's sapphire and diamond wedding band hanging from the elaborate knot.  
  
With a face of stone, Severus shoved the ribbon in its entirety into his pocket, unrolled the parchment and read the short note within. "I'm to present myself at the House of Red Doors by noon, or Hermione will be sacrificed on the Summer Solstice tomorrow," he said evenly.  
  
"What's the House of Red Doors?" asked Ron.  
  
"No place you'd want your mum to find out you went," answered Sirius. "It's a whorehouse down Knockturn Alley."  
  
"And an old gathering place for Death Eaters," Severus added. "Malfoy took me there after I first took the Dark Mark. His idea of - celebrating."  
  
"Is that from Lucius Malfoy?" Harry asked in rigid tones.  
  
"It's not signed, but I've no doubt it is," Severus answered.  
  
  
  
"You can't possibly go," Sirius told him. "He'll never let Hermione go, it's obviously a trap."  
  
Severus shot the man a withering look of contempt. "Don't be an ass, Black, of course it is."  
  
"You should also know that Draco Malfoy has not been seen anywhere on the grounds this morning," Dumbledore added. "I've asked every portrait to keep an eye out for him, and the ghosts are all actively searching. I sincerely doubt he is still within these walls."  
  
"How could Malfoy have gotten her out of the castle?" Ron asked. "It's not like he can Apparate out of here or anything." He swallowed as he suddenly remembered how many times Hermione had drilled that fact into him.  
  
Harry rubbed at the red, throbbing scar on his forehead. "Maybe not," he replied soberly. "But portkeys certainly work."  
  
"Why the Solstice?" asked Lupin. "It's nowhere near as significant as Beltane. Why didn't he try for her then?"  
  
"He couldn't get near her," Harry answered. "Ron and I were with her constantly, every single day." In truth, Harry was surprised that Snape did not lash out at him or Ron for letting their guard down.  
  
"Malfoy doesn't give a damn about the Solstice," Severus interrupted baldly. "Either he's going to give her to Voldemort, since the Dark Lord most certainly does believe in the old ways, or he's simply using it as a threat. Either way, he will kill her if he hasn't already."  
  
Harry would have been incensed at the man's expressionless pronouncement if he hadn't noticed Snape's hand. The letter from Hermione's abductor was clenched tightly in his fist, the knuckles white, the parchment shredding in his grip.  
  
"Could we do a locator spell of some sort?" asked Ron.  
  
Several expressions lightened until Severus shook his head. "No. Before I gave her this ring, I cast a finding charm on it, but Lucius obviously thought of that," he told them. "And one of his specialties is a shielding charm to hide something he wanted to keep."  
  
*****  
  
"I need to use the loo."  
  
"You just went." Draco Malfoy's voice was indistinct through the heavy wooden door between Hermione and himself, but the annoyance was quite clear.  
  
"That was ages ago."  
  
"It was thirty ruddy minutes ago!"  
  
"Well, you should have kidnapped someone who didn't have a bladder smaller than your brain!" Hermione snapped, giving the weathered door at her back a thump with her elbow and instantly regretting it. "And while we're at it, I'm freezing! You could have at least let me grab my cloak. I don't even have any shoes on!"  
  
A muffled oath came from the other side of the door and Draco Malfoy's deep green dress robes were shoved through the little square window. It may have held a grate of iron bars at one point, but they'd long since rusted and fallen out. As cells went, this was pathetic. Unfortunately, the latch on the outside of the door made it effective enough for its current purposes.  
  
"Thank you," she muttered insincerely as she flapped the fabric out and over her legs.  
  
"You're welcome," Draco snapped back.  
  
"I still need to pee."  
  
"Too bad!"  
  
Hermione fumed and sucked at the raw bit on her left ring knuckle where Lucius Malfoy had dragged off her wedding ring. It was a petty gesture and a sick trophy, but she missed the sapphire and diamond ring far more than she'd thought she would. She arranged the green fabric around herself and clumsily resumed her position on the dirt floor of the small hut, leaning against the door of her cell. She could only assume Draco was in a similar position on the other side.  
  
When he'd pounded on her door that morning, she'd expected him to call he names or issue more dire and vague threats for her to carry to Severus. Instead, he'd merely lunged forward and grabbed her arm, forcing her hand around an old brass candlestick. The lurching transition of a portkey had made her violently ill, and once the world had stopped spinning she'd heaved the admittedly scant contents of her stomach onto Lucius Malfoy's shoes. The gentleman had not been amused.  
  
"So tell me, Draco. Is this the glamorous life of a Death Eater you imagined? Stuck out here in. where exactly are we again?"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Well, from what I can see, it's the arse end of nowhere. Are we even in England?" Hermione examined the oblong of blue sky visible through the small, high window on the other side of the room. The view through it was of grass and sky and the occasional hillock in the distance, complete with sheep; pleasantly pastoral but absolutely NOT what she wanted to see. She could probably work some of the stones loose and enlarge the opening, but it would be hours of work.  
  
"I said shut up!"  
  
"I'm sure you're very proud of yourself. Smart silver mask - oh, wait. You haven't got one yet, have you? So I suppose you haven't been to any good attacks lately. Must be very exciting, attacking Muggles who don't even believe in magic."  
  
Hermione knew he was furious about his assignment to guard her; she'd heard him arguing loudly with his father about being held back from any real Death Eater business and essentially delegated to babysitting. His father had flat out told Draco that until he was marked he was a waste of Lucius' time.  
  
"You'll get yours," Draco warned petulantly.  
  
"Oh, I already got mine. Your father didn't tell you everything, did he? Did he tell you how he and his Death Eaters friends kidnapped me, tied me up and planned to gang-rape me? Only they were too busy torturing one of their own. Did your precious father also tell you how he pulled a wand on Severus Snape? Betrayal must run in your blood."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
"I'll tell you a universal truth, Draco. People who really are superior don't feel threatened by people who are their inferior. They only feel threatened by people who actually pose some sort of threat."  
  
I know that!" he snapped. "How stupid do you think I am?"  
  
Some note of stress in his voice caught Hermione's attention, and she kept back the sharp retort that had occurred to her. Instead, she licked her dry lips and tried a different tack.  
  
"You're not stupid, Draco. I never thought that. I just don't understand how you can think the things you do.." She paused, thinking. "I suppose that if you grow up hearing those things over and over, you come to believe it, without really thinking about it."  
  
"Maybe," he allowed sullenly.  
  
The ramshackle hut was silent for approximately forty-five seconds. "I'm bored," she announced. She was also scared silly, but boredom was definitely a factor.  
  
"Too bad," Draco replied.  
  
"Your father's going to kill me," she said conversationally. "You know that, don't you?"  
  
"And I should care?" he sneered.  
  
"I always knew you were a git, Draco. I just never pegged you for a murderer."  
  
"That's the beauty of being both rich and powerful, Granger. You can always get some other stupid bastard to do the nasty bits for you."  
  
Hermione snorted. "You don't know your father that well, do you? He's a great believer in doing things himself. How do you think I got pregnant?"  
  
"My father never shagged you!" Draco hotly denied.  
  
"No, he cast an Imperius on Professor Snape and had him rape me," Hermione told him. "Though he had planned on taking seconds," she added crudely.  
  
Draco's pale face appeared in the broken window. "You lying bitch! My father wouldn't lower himself to touch you!"  
  
Hermione rose and braced her hands on either side of the window. "He was certainly in a hurry to get his trousers undone that night!" she retorted hotly.  
  
His angry color drained abruptly. "But he knew - he promised I could have you to myself," Draco whispered, completely bewildered.  
  
"You liked me?" she asked artlessly, and then could have kicked herself as the expression on Draco's face hardened.  
  
"Of course not, Mudblood. I just wanted to fuck you." His attempt at harshness fell just a bit short of convincing, and his face disappeared as he sat back down outside the door with a thump.  
  
Hermione blinked as it dawned on her that she had in fact been personally attacked on Halloween, and not targeted for being Head Girl as they'd always thought. Lucius Malfoy had been, in a very Slytherin way, obtaining several objectives at once that night. The wizarding public and the school governors would have been alarmed at the murder of Hogwarts' Muggle-born Head Girl, Harry and Dumbledore would have been dealt a personal blow, and a possible traitor among the Death Eaters would have been exposed.  
  
The final but not insignificant aspect was the removing an entirely unsuitable interest from his son's life. Now that she thought about it, the continual presence of Draco Malfoy in the hallways of Hogwarts was indicative of a young man crushing on someone he'd rather not, but unable to help himself. The same young man who was currently holding her life in his hands, and was quite possibly questioning some of his own paradigms.  
  
"It's okay, you know," she called softly over her shoulder as she settled once more. "To like someone you shouldn't. I once had a crush on Gilderoy Lockhart."  
  
"Every girl had a crush on Lockhart," Draco sneered. "If he hadn't been so busy staring at himself in the mirror he could have had half the girls and every poofter from third year on up."  
  
"Draco?"  
  
"What," he answered sullenly.  
  
"Why me? I thought you and Pansy Parkinson were getting serious."  
  
"Do you know how many pure-blood girls are from families my father finds acceptable and are NOT spoken for already? Three. One's five years older than I am. There's Pansy Parkinson, who's got less brains than your average lap dog and even fewer looks. And then there's Goyle's cousin, who looks like Goyle in a dress - right down to the single eyebrow. And she's not even ten years old yet."  
  
"Urgh," Hermione groaned with as much sympathy as she could muster under the circumstances.  
  
Silence fell again, until Hermione could bear it no longer.  
  
"Draco?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Your father's going to give me to Voldemort, isn't he." It wasn't really a question.  
  
A long moment passed before he answered, and when he did his voice was subdued. "Yeah. I think so. Our Lord is a big believer in the old ways. Sacrifices and stuff."  
  
"Why?" she asked softly. "You know Voldemort doesn't care about bloodlines, not like your father does. He's not even a pure-blood."  
  
"I know he doesn't," Draco admitted. "Honestly, I think my father's losing it. He's desperate to prove himself to Voldemort, but he's not thinking very clearly about things." He huffed in exasperation. "I mean, Diggory was a pure-blood, for Merlin's sake, but it didn't help him much."  
  
He was quiet for a moment. "All that matters to old Lucius is getting to the top of the pile, no matter how many bodies he had to climb over. And with my dad, you're either with him or against him," he said softly, almost regretfully. "I don't want to be one of those bodies, Granger."  
  
Hermione felt a little light-headed, but she bit her lip until she could talk again. As much as she wanted to believe Severus would save her, or Harry and Ron would come flying in to the rescue, she was too much of a realist to hold much hope. The minutes ticked slowly by while the cool of the floor soaked into her body and chilled her. Finally, she cleared her throat.  
  
"Draco - would you do me a favor?"  
  
"Maybe. What is it?"  
  
The pendant was warm as she pulled it from beneath the neckline of her dress, grateful it had been hidden from Lucius' sight. She was immensely attached to the necklace, and had worn it almost constantly since Lucretia had sent it. Fighting the tears that clogged her throat, Hermione stroked the little snake with its green eyes before winding the chain around it.  
  
"Would you see that this gets to Severus somehow? It's been in his family for a long time, and I'd like it to go back to him." Awkwardly pushing herself to her feet, she held it out through the broken window. "Please?"  
  
Past her arm she could see Draco's rather hangdog expression as he considered both her hand and the jeweled medallion.  
  
"All right," he said grudgingly, and held out his hand. With an air of finality Hermione closed her eyes briefly, and then let the necklace drop to his fingers.  
  
She opened her eyes again just in time to see Draco Malfoy disappear.  
  
"Well, bugger me," she said, somewhat dazed. Lucretia's letter had said the pendant was charmed against theft. She never mentioned it was a portkey.  
  
The door, however, was still locked.  
  
*****  
  
In a need to do something, anything, Ron and Harry had moved all of Hermione's neatly packed things to one side of her room as they picked through them, vainly searching for any kind of clue to her whereabouts. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were discussing something in undertones before the Headmaster, who simply stood listening. Crookshanks had moved to the small space between the open door and the fireplace, his golden eyes fixed on a spot just inside the doorway.  
  
Severus, however, had discarded his heavy scholar's robes and was pacing rapidly back and forth in small arcs, his pent up rage and frustration crackling around him like an invisible St. Elmo's fire. His anger had burned far past any thought of blame or remonstration aimed at Potter or Weasley. The young men had faithfully fulfilled his request, and their temporary lapse was not worth considering in light of the situation. Instead, Severus' temper was clamped down in a diamond-hard hold and aimed solely at the Malfoy line.  
  
While the pacing appeased Snape's temper, the frantic movement only served to confuse the medallion bearing his family crest. It had been charmed to return itself to the head of the Snape family, but as far as inanimate objects go the necklace was slightly. After all, it hadn't needed to transport a thief to judgement in well over seven decades, and was understandably out of practice.  
  
So it was not too surprising that Draco Malfoy's feet skidded out from under him as the portkey dropped him unceremoniously onto the flagstones.  
  
Like a striking hippogriff, Severus lunged at him and seized him by the throat. Draco scrabbled wildly for his wand as he was thrust against the hard stone wall, but an equally hard-faced Harry Potter grabbed his hand and slammed it into the granite, forcing him to drop it. Ron Weasley grabbed the length of wood as it bounced across the floor and tucked it into his belt.  
  
The pressure around Draco's throat squeezed tight enough to jeopardize his air supply as Snape thrust the edge of his arm up under Draco's chin. "You tell me where Hermione is," he demanded in a dangerous voice, "or I'll snap your neck right here and now."  
  
"Severus!" called Dumbledore sharply.  
  
"As much as I respect you, Albus, stay the hell out of this."  
  
Draco sucked in a desperate breath as he took in the men standing in the Head Girl's room. He didn't know the large man beside Dumbledore, outside of the photos printed in the Daily Prophet when the prisoner had escaped from Azkaban, but a reasonable guess could be made. Remus Lupin still wore the patched robes Draco had ridiculed four years ago, but the stern, implacable lines of the werewolf's face would have him hesitate to make a comment about them now. Harry and Ron were stone-faced and uncompromising as they stood among the older men, but it was the glittering hard eyes of his former Head of House that frightened him the most.  
  
"Your father may not believe in the old ways, Mr. Malfoy," Severus hissed in icy tones, "but Voldemort most certainly does. Tomorrow is Midsummer's day, and at sundown he'll make a sacrifice. If my wife dies, I WILL make sure you live through that night, though I promise you you'll not enjoy it."  
  
Attempting a sneer, Draco made an attempt to defuse the implacable anger directed at him. "Voldemort doesn't want to sacrifice a Mud - a Muggle- born. My father said something about Lord Voldemort wanting a pure-blood sacrifice that was conceived on Halloween, but he's off his rocker. Granger's kid isn't even born yet."  
  
The sudden horror and contempt from all parties puzzled him, until he put his under-utilized brains to work and put two and two together. The resulting sum made him blanch. "He wouldn't. My father wouldn't do that." his voice trailed off as he realized that his father would have no difficulty with giving Hermione a crude Caesarian to retrieve her unborn child.  
  
Snape leaned in closer to his captive's face, unconsciously reversing the same tableaux Draco's father had enacted some eight months ago. "You need to decide, boy, and right now. Are you a murderer, Draco? Are you willing to go to Azkaban or die for what your father's doing?"  
  
Draco wrenched his gaze from Snape, only to see the same harsh resolve in Harry Potter's eyes. "Hermione is going to die unless you stop it, Malfoy."  
  
Snape's sharp elbow in his larynx helped him think faster, and Draco swallowed hard. For the first time in his life, he realized his father was not the most frightening wizard in the world.  
  
Fear was a highly motivating factor, but Draco knew it wasn't the force that bound together the men, young and old, that stood around him. Their collective determination and loyalty to each other was more vital than any whispered plots or veiled threats, the bitter cold machinations Draco had known all his life. The strength of their combined presence was more intense than a noonday sun.  
  
He finally realized just how serious the stakes were for all involved, not just himself. For a single instant in time, his entire existence hung suspended from a thread, waiting for him to open his mouth and decide, once and for all, where his destiny lay. And for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy made a decision of his own, regardless of the consequences, and opened his mouth.  
  
"She's in the Brecon Beacons. That's in Wales, you prat," he sneered towards Ron, who had frowned in confusion.  
  
Moments later Snape was striding down the path to the gates of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy's instructions clear in his mind. He didn't even realize he was being followed until Black caught at his elbow just inside the gates. Lupin was right on his heels, as were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.  
  
"What the hell do you want?" Severus snapped.  
  
"To give you some help. If you'll let me," Serius responded. Remus merely nodded once, decisively.  
  
"And if you think you're going without us..." began Harry,  
  
"Then you're out of your goddamned mind," finished Ron.  
  
Severus looked at each of them, nodded stiffly, and took out his wand.  
  
*****  
  
In a remote area of Wales, five wizards appeared on the windswept grazing land and immediately took a defensive posture. It only took a moment for them to feel slightly ridiculous, all of them ready to hex the single sheep who watched them from the nearby hilltop, grass drooping from its mouth. The only thing breaking the endless hillocks all around was a dilapidated crofter's hut, hip-slung and shedding its stone construction like a phoenix close to burning day.  
  
"Hermione!" Severus shouted, striding towards the weathered timbers that still constituted a front door.  
  
"You two watch the front," Sirius Black told Ron and Harry. "We'll check around back."  
  
Harry nodded, and Sirius and Remus set off, circling the small building in opposite directions. They met in back, under the single high window that showed signs of having recently been enlarged but not enough to let even a child through, let alone a woman who was eight months pregnant.  
  
Remus continued around the building, but Sirius found a toe-hold halfway up the wall and hoisted himself to the window. Peering in, he was just in time to see the interior door open abruptly and Severus Snape entered the room, ready to do battle.  
  
"Severus?" Hermione called, unsure of her rescuer. She stood to one side of the small room, a sizable chunk of stone clutched in her hand. The stone dropped to the dirt floor as she took the few faltering steps that separated her from Severus, and at the last moment threw herself into his arms.  
  
In that moment, Sirius Black at last comprehended that the nemesis of his childhood was nothing but his own memories. He looked on, somewhat amazed, as Severus held his wife close and then gave her a long and lingering kiss. When he pulled back, running a hand over her rounded belly for reassurance, the fierce emotion burning in those black eyes was enough to spark a pang of both envy and hope in Sirius, that he might one day have what Severus had already found.  
  
"Are you hurt?" Severus demanded, even as he felt a hearty kick against his own stomach.  
  
"No, I'm fine," Hermione told him. "You're really here," she whispered unsteadily.  
  
"I'm really here," he confirmed gently. He gave her another kiss before fishing in his pocket. "I think this belongs to you," he said as he stripped the ring off the ribbon and slid it onto her finger.  
  
"Oh," she breathed happily. "Severus." she stopped in mid-word, and her lower lip began quivering as she took in the one detail that no one else had noticed - the green and black striped silk fabric tied around his neck. "You bought a green neck-cloth," she observed numbly.  
  
"Striped, actually," he replied. "Couldn't quite bring myself to go all the way."  
  
"Oh. Oh, Severus," she stammered, covering her mouth as if to hold back the sob tearing its way free. Her free arm gestured aimlessly, unable to express her emotional turmoil.  
  
A faint, tender smile transformed his face as he folded her back into his arms, holding her as tightly as he dared. "It's all right, dear heart," he soothed, "You're entitled."  
  
"I'm sorry. I can't believe I'm doing this," she moaned as tears spilled onto her cheeks.  
  
"You're safe now, Hermione," he assured her, stroking the long, curly strands of her hair as she buried her face in his shoulder and wept. "I'll never let you go," he whispered.  
  
Outside, feeling like the worst kind of voyeur, Sirius Black quietly let himself down the back wall. He wandered around to the front, where his godson and their respective best friends were waiting uncertainly. "They'll be along in a minute," he told them with a wink. Their expressions cleared, though Ron's nose wrinkled a bit.  
  
Sure enough, Severus soon emerged from the hut, carrying his wife over the broken stones that littered the grass in front of the hut. Hermione's bare feet peeped out from under the edge of her voluminous maternity robe. When he put her on her feet, she responded to Harry and Ron's enthusiastic greetings and hugs with a wan but happy smile, wiping away the last traces of her tears.  
  
"You're supposed to carry her IN over the threshold, not out," Sirius commented.  
  
To everyone's surprise, Severus grinned widely. "Do feel free to sod off any time, Black." At his side, Hermione shivered in the stiff breeze, her hair wafting around her face like wisps of smoke. Without thinking, he stripped off his coat and put it around her.  
  
"Ye, gods. A gentleman," Lupin commented in an undertone.  
  
When Severus ignored him, Sirius felt the need to object. "Now wait a minute. What, he gets to insult you and I don't? That's not fair."  
  
"Padfoot," Remus warned.  
  
"No. I've been around this git for weeks, listening to him natter on and on about his new love--"  
  
"One conversation hardly counts as nattering, simpleton," Severus cut him off.  
  
"I want to see him kiss her," Black declared, mischief in the pugnacious set of his jaw.  
  
"Black, you may display your love life in front of all and sundry if you wish," replied Severus. "Oh, I'd forgotten. You don't have one."  
  
Harry and Ron exchanged incredulous grins, but all in all they were both pleased to see the two men apparently burying their previous grievances.  
  
"I don't know about all of you," added Remus, "but I want to get back to Hogwarts and put my feet up. This is more excitement than an old man like me can take."  
  
"That's the most intelligent suggestion you've made in weeks," Severus told him. "And if we hurry, you all might have time to clean up before the graduation ceremony. We can't have the Boy Who Lived missing, it will set off a panic."  
  
Despite his stern words, Harry gave his former teacher a cheeky grin and drew his wand to Apparate. Severus put his arms around Hermione, preparing to do the same, when a mild 'pop' sounded just a few yards away.  
  
Normally impeccably groomed, Lucius Malfoy's current appearance was shocking. His blond hair hung in disordered strands around his face, which was haggard and unshaven. His expensive robes were quite obviously on their second or third day of wearing, creased and grease-marked. Only his expression, smug and self-satisfied, remained as an echo of his former urbane self.  
  
That assured poise melted to confusion and then rage as he took in the sight of Hermione, standing free, surrounded by the five wizards who'd come to rescue her. Malfoy drew his wand convulsively, but halted that movement when five were quickly pointed back in his direction.  
  
Frustrated and furious, he lowered his wand marginally. "Where is my son?" he demanded. "What have you done with him?"  
  
Remus was the first to answer. "Draco is at Hogwarts, in the custody of Professor Dumbledore. He stands accused of kidnapping, at the very least. If he cooperates, he may escape a sentence in Azkaban, but I think it all depends on what Mrs. Snape will say when she testifies."  
  
Lucius Malfoy's watery blue eyes focused on Hermione with a fervent hatred. "You unspeakable little Mudblood whore," he ground out. "You've ruined everything!"  
  
Ron and Harry stepped forward, goaded by the insult. Sirius held up a hand to stop them, but at the same time shifted slightly to the side to allow them all better aim.  
  
"Then maybe you should have left me alone," Hermione replied in a level voice. There were so many things she wanted to say to Lucius Malfoy, to scream at him, but she controlled the impulse to fly at the blond wizard who had so disrupted her life. Even surrounded by her would-be gallants, Hermione felt only marginally safe from Malfoy, and she was in no shape to physically attack anyone regardless of how much she desired to do so.  
  
"How dare you!" he seethed. "My kind have ruled empires! You should be on your knees before me!"  
  
Sirius held his wand out, still tense and wary. "As opposed to flat on her back, begging for mercy?" he questioned spitefully. "Don't blame Hermione for escaping your ploys, Malfoy."  
  
"Got them all panting for you, don't you?" Malfoy hissed between clenched teeth. "Foul little tramp, putting your hooks into my son. And now you've had to settle for him." He turned his furious attention to the tall man at her side, drops of spittle forming on his lips as he flung out his accusations. "I hope she was good, Severus. Was she really worth throwing away everything?"  
  
With a lift of his chin, Severus replied simply, "Yes. She was."  
  
Hermione inhaled quickly, surprised beyond conscious thought by Severus' words. Without meaning to, she reached out and touched his arm. It wasn't a formal declaration, in the words she longed to hear, but when he spared a quick glance at her, everything she wanted to know was expressed there in his ebony eyes.  
  
An incomprehensible scream of rage tore from Lucius Malfoy's throat at this final betrayal, and before anyone realized his intent, his wand raised in a savage arc.  
  
"AVADA KEDAVRA!!"  
  
For one blinding instant, Remus Lupin's more sensitive eyes made out Hermione's form, surrounded by a brilliant halo of green. The after-image burned into his retinas showed Hermione standing with her bare feet planted in the rich earth, the gale force of Malfoy's spell causing her simple robe to outline her rounded form and her hair to stream back over her shoulders. The soft curls were edged with the terrible emerald light that enveloped her entire body. Her husband's arms were dark bands as he reached to shield her, protect her, but were far too late to make any difference.  
  
A lifetime ago, Lily Potter had created a protection for her son by tapping into the elemental magic of a mother's love for her child. In the instant the curse fell from Lucius Malfoy's lips, Hermione's arm flew up as if to ward off a blow, instinctively trying to protect her unborn child, and the air crackled between her and Malfoy.  
  
"NO!" The words came from her mouth, but the sound of Hermione's voice split the air around them, her denial reverberating through the very earth on which the wizards stood. Power thrummed through their bones, sympathetic echoes of the clash taking place within the young woman in their midst.  
  
The spell coiled about her, momentarily stymied from completing its deadly mission. And then the green light flew back to its maker, surrounding Malfoy in a nimbus of rich color. The shielding spell he attempted burnt away before the words were even completed, and he screamed in shock and agony, his spine arching painfully. Glimmers of green light chased themselves across his body as the spell overwhelmed him.  
  
He was dead before he hit the ground.  
  
Sirius Black bounded forward instantly, his wand at the ready, but one look at the staring-eyed corpse left him with little doubt. To be sure, he put two fingers to the man's neck, but failed to find a pulse.  
  
"He's dead," Sirius declared with grim satisfaction, then looked up at the rest of his party. "Dear God in heaven," he breathed.  
  
The ice that clenched in Black's chest could have made the same pale and utterly blank mask that was Severus Snape's face as he gazed down at the burden in his arms. Hermione hung limp and pale in his embrace.  
  
"Hermione?" called Ron Weasley in a small voice, plaintive against the light breeze that toyed with the curls that crossed her still face. Her head lolled back, exposing the tender length of her neck. Half shut, her eyes stared at nothingness.  
  
Snape's knees buckled suddenly, and he collapsed to the green grass, still holding Hermione's upper body across his lap. The weight of her dragged relentlessly against his arms.  
  
"Hermione! NO!" shouted Harry, his forward lunge stopped by Lupin's arms, his werewolf strength just barely able to stop the distraught young man.  
  
"An object lesson, Mr. Potter," Severus declared after a long moment, though his own voice sounded distant in his ears and pins and needles crawled up and down his limbs. "When confronted with a known enemy, do not hesitate to strike first."  
  
The Potion Master's breath caught with a sudden painful hitch, as thought he'd suddenly forgotten the mechanics of respiration. Each expansion of his lungs was a separate act of will as he gazed down at the woman in his arms. "You never know what that moment of hesitation will cost you."  
  
Hermione lay motionless across his knees, her arms lost in the black wool of her husband's coat. The black fabric lay open across her center, framing the pale rose fabric of her gown and the prominent rise of the baby she carried. Severus' right hand hovered briefly over the still, unmoving surface, trembling, as though he did not dare touch the child. Instead, his fingers caught at one of the tendrils of hair floating across Hermione's cheek and smoothed it back.  
  
"Severus," Black called quietly, but the man made no indication he'd heard, even when Sirius called his name again. With a sigh Sirius solemnly removed his cloak and spread it across Hermione's body, pulling it as high as he could without disturbing the new widower.  
  
He stood, feeling older than Dumbledore as he walked towards his godson, who stood woodenly under Remus' grip. Ron had one hand clamped to his mouth and his other arm wrapped around his stomach, hunched in over a pain that had yet to find an outlet in either tears or rage. Sirius put a hand on Harry's shoulder, concerned by the young man's clenched jaw.  
  
"NO." Harry declared, shaking off Sirius' hand and dropping to his knees opposite Snape. "I'm not going to let this happen."  
  
"Harry," protested Lupin gently as tried to draw him away from the body of his friend. "She's gone." Over Harry's black head, he caught the sorrowful gaze of Sirius. They'd seen too many victims of a Death Eater's Killing Curse to have any hope.  
  
"Do we know that for sure?" Harry demanded wildly, his green eyes brilliant with desperation and unshed tears. "Maybe she's not!" He seized a handful of the black coat and shoved Snape's shoulder hard, trying to loosen the grieving man's hold. "We could give her artificial respiration."  
  
"What's that?" sniffled Ron, wiping at his damp cheek, his voice crackling.  
  
"It's a Muggle first aid," Harry muttered, trying to remember what to do. He'd only browsed over the pamphlet that had come in the Dursley's mail as he'd carried it to the waste basket, and spared a split second for the irony that Hermione would have undoubtedly known exactly how to perform the procedure. "Lay her down," he ordered Snape.  
  
Beyond caring, beyond any recognizable emotion at all, Severus mechanically lay Hermione's body flat on the ground. Harry hovered for a moment before sliding a hand into the thick mass of curls under her neck to position her head properly. He bent over her, took a deep breath, and at the last second remembered to pinch her nose before placing his mouth over hers and exhaling as hard as he could.  
  
He'd barely begun to inflate her lungs when a spark snapped between them, like a static arc, which abruptly flared into a blinding white and sent Harry sprawling to one side.  
  
"Harry!" Ron yelled and jumped to his friend's assistance. Black and Lupin both were blinking, shocked physically and mentally at the powerful blaze of magic that had surged through the air around Hermione like a lightening strike. Severus, kneeling beside Hermione's body, had flung one arm across his face in an instinctive effort to block the onslaught of light.  
  
"Your head's bleeding," Ron informed Harry as he helped him sit up.  
  
Harry put up a shaky hand and felt blood dripping from his scar, but no wound. He scrubbed at it with his sleeve. "What was that?"  
  
No one answered him, though all of them were looking at him. "What?" he said again when Ron continued to stare at him.  
  
"Harry.your scar!" he exclaimed in an awed voice.  
  
Harry felt for the lightning slash on his forehead, but couldn't find it. "Is it gone?" he asked, shocked.  
  
"No, it's still there. It's just gone pale or something. Like it's just some ordinary old scar."  
  
Sirius and Remus both stepped closer to see the changed scar. Just that morning it had been red and raised, the same way it had been since Voldemort had reclaimed a physical existence three years ago. Now, the young man's forehead had only a whitish streak lying quiescent on his skin.  
  
"Ow," said Hermione quietly. She pushed herself up, one hand going to her temple as she winced. "Severus?" she queried, eyes half-closed in pain, sounding lost.  
  
Turning quickly, Sirius and Lupin both gaped in open disbelief. Ron and Harry both shouted her name in joy, but stopped just short of throwing themselves at her when they took in the utterly panicked expression on Severus Snape's face.  
  
"Hermione," he gasped, reaching out one tentative hand towards her. When she looked up at him, her brown eyes full of pain and confusion, Severus dragged her into his arms, his hands tightening where they held on to her until they all but disappeared in the black wool fabric of the old frock coat. His shoulders shook as he buried his face in the wavy masses of her hair, but not a sound escaped him until he gasped raggedly for breath.  
  
"Hermione, love. My love. Gods." A dry sob racked his shoulders. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, rocking her slightly.  
  
"I'm all right," she told him weakly, and she was not sure if the wetness she felt was his tears or hers as he pressed his lips to her eyes and cheeks.  
  
Doing their best not to disturb the couple, Sirius and the others moved away slightly, without discussion, and watched the pair embracing.  
  
Elemental magic," Lupin concluded at last. "Just as Harry was saved by his mother's love, seventeen years ago. Hermione is a mother to be. Magic recognized magic." Ron sniffled, but the smile on his face was bright despite or perhaps because of the tears on his cheeks. Harry clapped him on the shoulder and they looked on as their best friend was held by another man who loved her.  
  
A quiet 'pop' sounded nearby.  
  
"Bloody hell," Ron shouted, startled, as he and the other standing wizards whirled to meet this new threat. "Now what?"  
  
Harry, however, was the first to recognize the Apparating figure.  
  
"Ginny!"  
  
Ginny Weasley appeared on the small hillock nearby, her long red hair swirling around her shoulders and her pale, frightened face. She wore a black school robe over her white dress robes, and in one hand she carried the silver sword of Godric Griffyndor. Fawkes, the Headmaster's golden phoenix, sat on her arm.  
  
"Harry! Voldemort is attacking Hogwarts!" 


	20. Chapter 20

Kneeling on the grass, Severus Snape was marginally aware of the wet seeping into his best pair of trousers and the rocky bits reminding him that his joints were nearly forty years old and not happy with this sort of rude treatment. In all, though, it didn't signify, because his wife was alive and propped against his chest with his arms wrapped around her. He had no plans to let go at any time in the near future. In fact, if Severus had his way, he and Hermione would go back at Dumbledore's archaic little cottage and not emerge until their child got its letter of admittance from Hogwarts.  
  
That little fantasy, and he knew it was a fantasy, was shattered by the appearance of Ginny Weasley. She was wearing dress robes for her boyfriend and brother's graduation ceremony, but the sword in her hand and the phoenix on her arm were indications that the ceremony was not going to go off without a hitch. Her announcement of Voldemort's attack was merely the bitter icing on a cake of a day.  
  
"I'd never have found you if Fawkes hadn't shown me where to Apparate to," Ginny was saying as she threw one arm around Harry's neck and kissed him quickly. "Dumbledore put him on my arm just before he went out to meet You- Know-Who!"  
  
"How did Voldemort get on the grounds?" demanded Lupin urgently.  
  
"I don't know! The heads of house just told us - the prefects - to get everyone down some trap door on the third floor while they prepared to defend the castle." Ginny's narrative faltered for a moment as she took in the dead body of Lucius Malfoy stretched out on the green grass, but quickly recovered. "Professor Dumbledore called me back at the last moment and gave me the sword. He said Fawkes would help me find you."  
  
With the mention of his name, the phoenix arched his neck, surveying them all. His beady black eyes lighted on Hermione and he spread his crimson wings to glide to the ground at her side.  
  
"We've got to get back, right now," declared Harry. He took the sword from Ginny and hefted it firmly in his hand. "I think Malfoy might have taken Hermione just to get me away from the school."  
  
"No, I don't think it was Malfoy's idea," Lupin said, shaking his head as his brow furrowed in furious thought. "He's been running around in circles for weeks. If anything, I think Lucius was probably following Voldemort's orders, and Voldemort deliberately used him as a stalking horse to lure as many of us as possible away from Dumbledore's side. At the very least to distract Harry and Severus."  
  
"'When the Dark Lord betrays his most loyal servant,'" quoted Sirius, his face bloodless with shock.  
  
"The prophesy," Severus concluded grimly. "And Dumbledore's first priority will be to protect the students. He will have the staff defend them and the school, and confront Voldemort by himself."  
  
"I thought Wormtail was his most loyal servant," murmured Hermione to Severus.  
  
Unnoticed by the humans around him, Fawkes crouched as close as possible to Hermione as she lay half-reclining in Severus' grasp and laid his head over her chest. Several warm, pearly tears squeezed out of his eyes and slid down her décolletage to pool over her heart. Even Hermione paid scant attention to the bird, other than petting him absently, though her breathing became easier and her pulse ceased its rapid pounding, slowing to a more reasonable cadence. (Truth be told, Fawkes was still miffed that no one had had the sense to let him into the Hospital Wing when Severus Snape lay close to death last year. Even a phoenix had difficulty moving through solid walls.) All of Hermione's attention was on the discussion raging among the group of people standing around her.  
  
"Malfoy's been desperate to prove himself to Voldemort," Lupin pointed out. "I'd say that qualifies him for the prophesy."  
  
"Sod the prophesy," said Harry loudly, startling everyone. A fierce light burned in his green eyes, and Hermione shivered in awe at his determined tone of command. His voice was deeper that Hermione had ever realized, the strength of his conviction adding to the authority in his voice. "I don't give a damn for prophesies, and I don't give a damn for Voldemort, either. I'm going to shove this sword right through him and I'll do the same to any Death Eater who gets in my way."  
  
"I'm right behind you, mate," Ron said. Lupin and Black were quick to weigh in with their agreement.  
  
Fawkes lifted his head, considering the tall, slim young man with the sword in his hand. With a piercing cry he launched himself from the ground and landed on Harry's shoulder. Surprised, Harry reached up and scratched the bird gently along the back of his neck feathers. For the rest of her life, Hermione would remember the image of Harry Potter standing in his red Quidditch robes with a sword in one hand and a golden-tailed phoenix on his shoulder.  
  
"Are you coming?" Harry asked Severus, somehow making the words an invitation.  
  
"Yes. Of course," Severus declared after a moment. While Hermione wanted to clutch at him and make him stay, she knew better.  
  
"Ginny, I want you to stay here with Hermione," Harry continued.  
  
Ginny protested immediately. "No! I want to come with you! Let him stay!" She indicated Severus with a jerk of her head.  
  
Normally Hermione would have been annoyed at the assumption she needed help, but as she was currently weak as a limp rag and ached from head to toe, she decided to let it go.  
  
"Hermione's been hit with an Avada Kedavra," Harry countered, "and you know she can't Apparate. Someone needs to stay with her, and you're nowhere near as strong as Snape is. Please, Ginny! Don't argue!"  
  
"Please, Miss Weasley," added Severus in a low undertone. "Please look after her." The quiet entreaty in his velvety voice reached her better than Harry's orders. Her shoulder slumped.  
  
"Oh, all right. Damn it all, Harry," she cursed bleakly. I wanted to be with you."  
  
"I know you did, Ginny," Harry replied. "I love you." Ginny murmured something, presumably the same words, as Harry kissed her swiftly. On his shoulder, Fawkes gave an impatient trill that was ignored.  
  
Hermione looked away from the couple and found Severus' dark eyes looking straight into hers. For just a moment she forgot that she was in pain, forgot the coming battle that might see her friends dead, forgot everything but the man who held her in his arms and slowly, gently, kissed her mouth as though she were the most precious possession in the universe.  
  
"I love you, Hermione," he murmured, his voice gone rough with emotion. "No matter what, always remember that I love you with all my heart and soul."  
  
"And I love you," she whispered, fighting back tears as he pressed one more quick kiss to her forehead and rose to his feet. As he moved to join the other men, he paused for one moment to put his hand on Ginny Weasley's arm.  
  
"Thank you," he said simply.  
  
And with a chorus of 'pops' the five of them were gone, leaving Hermione and Ginny alone.  
  
*****  
  
For several minutes after the wizards had Disapparated, Ginny paced wildly, obviously in a full Weasley rage. Hermione remained where she was on the ground, huddled in Severus' coat for comfort.  
  
Would you please stop that," Hermione sighed finally. "You're making me dizzy."  
  
"How can you just sit there?" Ginny snapped. "They've gone off and left us behind, and you know how much I've wanted to be there when it all landed in the pot!"  
  
"Yes, and I wanted to be there, too," Hermione reminded the younger girl tartly. "But you've got to admit Severus could out-duel you any day of the week."  
  
Ginny dropped to her knees beside Hermione and began to pull up blades of grass from the hillside, savagely ripping them apart. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Hermione! Do you always have to be so bloody practical? It's going to be the greatest wizard battle in a hundred years, and we're missing it!"  
  
That earned her a raised eyebrow, oddly reminiscent of Snape's trademark disdain. "Bit blood-thirsty, are you? And when did you all learn to Apparate?"  
  
"Jealous?" asked Ginny, quite accurately. "Dumbledore had a lot of the sixth-year class and most of the prefects start taking the class just a few months ago. I'm not up to solo Apparating yet, but really, Fawkes did all the work. I just did the spell."  
  
"I had to drop out of the class," Hermione said with a sniff, absently rubbing her aching abdomen. "And here you are, taking it before me."  
  
"Well, you can't take a chance of getting splinched, can you? Don't worry, you'll have that baby soon, then you can take all the lessons you want."  
  
Hermione frowned and shifted her weight. "Ginny... I may be taking those lessons sooner than you think."  
  
"What do you mean?" Ginny asked absently, still shredding the hapless piece of grass and staring out over the endless grass.  
  
Hermione let out a small gasp as the full body ache that had been bothering her for some time abruptly coalesced in her back. "I think I'm in labor."  
  
"What!? No, you can't be. Not now, for heaven's sake! You're not due yet!"  
  
"I've had a very trying morning!" Hermione tried to joke, but the ache prevented her, robbing her of breath. "Help me sit up."  
  
Ginny did as she was asked, but let out a horrified exclamation as she moved the cloak the two of them had been sitting on. "Hermione, you're bleeding!"  
  
Feeling the fabric, then inspecting her hand, the older girl shook her head. "It's not blood. It's amniotic fluid. My water's broken."  
  
"Really? What's it like?"  
  
Hermione paused while the contraction slowly eased. "It feels like I've wet myself."  
  
"And you've only just now noticed?" Ginny demanded.  
  
"I thought the pain was just an after-effect of the Avada Kedavra!" she explained. "How are we going to get back to Hogwarts in time? What am I saying-we can't go to Hogwarts, there's a battle going on there. I don't even know where we are!"  
  
"We're in Wales, somewhere. Professor Dumbledore said they thought you'd been taken to Malfoy Manor at first, but even Lucius Malfoy isn't that stupid. Wasn't, I mean," she amended, noting the still form of the deceased Death Eater.  
  
"Bloody hell," Hermione cursed vehemently. "Well, let's get going. I can have this baby in a Muggle hospital just as well as at Hogwarts." With Ginny's help, she managed to stand up, and held the damp fabric of her dress away from her with distaste. She took several decisive steps before noticing Ginny had not followed. "Well? Which way?"  
  
Ginny bit her lip. "Herm, I don't know how to tell you this... we're miles from any village."  
  
Hermione stared at her, appalled, until another contraction bent her double.  
  
Ginny sprang forward and put a supporting arm around her. "Tell you what. Let's just get you a bit further away from here," she said, with a nod towards the body lying on the grass. "We'll get you comfortable, and wait and see what happens. My mum says it takes ages to have a baby. Someone's bound to come back for us before too long."  
  
"Let's just hope it's someone from our side," Hermione joked feebly. Her breath caught in a sob. "Oh, Gods, Ginny. This can't be happening now. It just can't!" The contraction argued that yes, it could. "What am I going to do?"  
  
Accustomed to Hermione being the bossy one in their friendship, Ginny was momentarily at a loss for words. But if nothing else, Ginny was Molly Weasley's daughter. "Well," she said reasonably, "I think we're going to have a baby."  
  
*****  
  
Just as they had some hours ago, the five wizards appeared at the same time and immediately took a defensive position. This time, however, the view between the winged boar gateposts that framed the broad entrance to Hogwarts was not empty. Under the bright June sun, perfect for weddings and summer picnics, black and gray robed figures were scattered across the green lawn.  
  
"The wards are all down," Severus noticed instantly. "A secondary set of spells should have been triggered around the castle itself if Voldemort overcame the Apparation barrier."  
  
"Something's happened to Albus, hasn't it?" Sirius asked, and Snape nodded sharply as he looked out over the lawn.  
  
With a sharp musical cry, Fawkes launched himself off Harry's shoulder and winged out over the battlefield, for a battle it was. Spells flared on the broad lawn, dark figures struggling in knots as curses and hexes flew like leaves in a high wind. Harry thought he recognized several of the Aurors from the Hogsmeade patrol among the scattered combatants fighting against the Death Eaters.  
  
"Well, Potter, 'bout time you showed up," sneered a familiar voice. Draco Malfoy jogged up from the narrow avenue between the castle and the high outer wall, the same avenue Severus had led Hermione through on the day he'd taken her shopping in Diagon Alley. Behind him was a straggle of sixth and seventh-year students, chiefly Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Among them, surprisingly, was Neville Longbottom, and even more surprisingly, the large form of Gregory Goyle.  
  
"Why aren't you locked up?" Ron asked hotly.  
  
"Because I'm leading the charge of the lame brigade," Draco answered in his usual bored, jeering voice, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the twenty or more students behind him.  
  
"Draco's apparently a sleeper agent," answered Dean Thomas, who'd read far too many espionage books during his summers home with his Muggle family. "He got all the Slytherins worked up, well some of them, anyway," he amended, after taking a look at Goyle's thunderous expression, "and said as how he was going to go out and help the Death Eaters. And no sooner do they all get excited the git tried to take them out by himself. If Neville hadn't figured it out, they'd have had his goolies on toast."  
  
The young Slytherin rolled his eyes at the idea of owing his continued existence to Neville Longbottom and although Severus was inclined to agree with that sentiment, it wasn't entirely impossible. The awkward boy had matured into a cautious young man with a knack for understanding people's motivations, if only because he was accustomed to being picked upon by his classmates.  
  
Harry gave Draco a long, measuring look, under which the Slytherin waited, without squirming, to see if Harry would correct Dean's assumption. Severus made no effort to interfere; this was Harry's battle and it was his decision to make. Almost deliberately, Harry turned towards the other students and made no indication that Draco's intentions had ever been anything but pure.  
  
"So we decided we'd come out and do the same thing, only for Professor Dumbledore's side," Neville finished, his eyes wide but not stuttering as usual. "Terry Boot and some of the others stayed behind to take care of the younger students and keep an eye on the Slytherins."  
  
"Hey," rumbled Goyle, a puzzled frown on his slab-like face. "Aren't you Sirius Black?"  
  
Sirius nodded, noting the apprehension on the other students' faces. "Yes. And I'm Harry's godfather."  
  
Goyle thought about this for a moment before shrugging one massive shoulder as he ignored the convoluted implications; he was and always had been a follower and he would follow Draco Malfoy until it got him killed. His own reluctance to follow his father into the Death Eaters had caused him several moments of uneasiness, but his delay in joining the other Slytherins earlier in the day had left him exactly where he preferred to be - following Draco Malfoy.  
  
"What happened to you?" Ron asked Seamus, who bore a large red mark on his face.  
  
"Lavender," he answered briefly. "I told her she couldn't come with us, and she got a bit upset."  
  
"So Romeo here puts her in a full body bind and props her in the corner," Draco finished with a nasty grin. "If she ever does marry him, he's going to be sleeping on the sofa for the first five years."  
  
"We'll worry about our love lives some other time," Severus interrupted, the acid tone in his voice cutting through the young men's nervous banter with ease. "Where's Voldemort?"  
  
The nervous students settled immediately under the lash of Professor Snape's sarcasm, and their sense of purpose hardened. Draco pointed over the sloping lawn, where one figure in the midst of a sea of black robes stood slightly taller than the rest. The Dark Lord was watching the slow advance of his forces against the powerful charms and shielding spells thrown up by the teaching staff of Hogwarts. On the ground beside him, in a heap like so much forgotten washing, was Albus Dumbledore.  
  
"All right," Harry said firmly. "The far side of the castle is bound almost entirely by the lake. The squid will take care of anyone coming up that way, that's what he's for. Who here can Apparate?"  
  
Draco and the rest of the seventh-years raised their hands, except for Neville who still hadn't caught on to the finer details. One of the sixth- year prefects also raised her hand. Harry couldn't remember the Ravenclaw's name, but she had a stubborn chin and a dangerous look in her eye. Next to her, Colin Creevey toyed with his camera before tucking it carefully into the pocket of his robes, for once having the sense to not document the moment for posterity.  
  
"Here's the plan. I want everyone who can do so to Apparate to the far side of the lawn, over by Hagrid's hut, and work your way back towards the center. Do what you can to pick off any Death Eaters on the fringes and try to keep them from flanking Professor McGonagall. Don't take too many chances, however." One and all they ignored him, and he knew it, but did not call them on it. This would be a battle of historical proportions, and everyone present knew the odds were against them. Caution was not part of their marching orders. "Draco - you're in charge."  
  
"Right," Draco answered, swallowing hard and for once without a smart remark. Severus put his hand on Draco's shoulder and the younger wizard looked at him, his ice-blue eyes white rimmed with shock at Harry's gesture of trust. Severus' black eyes held nothing but understanding - he'd once been given trust he hadn't deserved, and had spent the next fifteen years trying to be worthy of it. Just like his mentor had done with Severus, Harry was giving Draco the chance to redeem himself.  
  
Draco frowned suddenly. "Was. well, you didn't kill me, so I guess Granger's all right?"  
  
"Lucius tried to kill her," Severus told him uncompromisingly. "Your father's dead." Draco swallowed again and nodded his head once, controlling his breathing with some effort, but appeared to be almost as relieved as he was dismayed.  
  
"Those who can't Apparate, I want to go directly up the hill to support McGonagall. The Death Eathers won't take you seriously, and by the time they do you should have made it to the front steps. And all of you - remember one thing. Don't hesitate, and don't try to play fair. You're stronger together than you are separately, so don't try to take on anyone in single combat. Watch out for each other."  
  
"What are you going to do?" asked Susan Bones, her reddish hair reminding Harry rather painfully of Ginny.  
  
"I'm going to kill Voldemort," he said in a voice that held no doubt whatsoever.  
  
"Wearing that?" Draco scoffed at the Quidditch gear Harry still wore from his early morning practice. "He'll see you coming a mile away."  
  
"Why not?" Harry returned with a grim smile. "They've always brought me luck against you."  
  
Draco made a sour face, but said nothing further as he gestured to the dozen or so older students before pulling out his wand to Apparate.  
  
Dean and Neville led the rest of the students past the shrubbery that clogged the edge of the lawn, and with one look back, began to make their way towards the embattled professors defending the main entrance to Hogwarts.  
  
With Harry in the lead, Severus, Remus, Sirius and Ron struck out on an angle that would lead them directly behind the main body of Death Eaters. Their rapid progress caught several Death Eaters unawares and stunned them before they could raise any alarm. Severus knew they had at the most only a minute or two before the main group of the enemy would notice their little band. They passed several already stunned Death Eaters, lying in close proximity to a middle-aged witch and a younger wizard wearing the same practical, nondescript robes typical to the Aurors. The young man's chest still rose and fell, and would presumably live until the end of the battle, to be either aided or dispatched by the victors, depending on the outcome.  
  
As they skirted another knot of subsided violence, Severus heard Harry inhale sharply. Before them, face down on the grass, lay the motionless form of Rubeus Hagrid. A fair number of dark-robed figures lay scattered about, some of them lying like disjointed dolls around the beaten half- giant. Judging from the tableau, the groundskeeper had gone berserk when Dumbledore had fallen and had waded into the ranks of Death Eaters with devastating effect until he was felled at last by multiple hexes. Faithful to the end, the enormous hound Fang sat mournfully beside Hagrid's corpse.  
  
Harry took one step towards the body of his oldest friend, then stopped. "Come, Fang," Harry commanded, his voice barely wobbling. The hound hesitated, then lurched to his feet and joined their small group.  
  
In a wedge, the five of them forced their way through the battle, aiding the few Aurors who remained standing. One or two Death Eaters at the fringe of the crowd around Voldemort turned to see the approaching group, and they quickly called their lord's attention to Harry's approach.  
  
Across the lawn, the defending staff members took advantage of the sudden lull and forced their way further down the slope of the hill towards Voldemort and the fallen headmaster. Leading the assorted professors was Minerva McGonagall. Somewhere along the way she'd lost both her hat and her glasses, and her neatly bound hair had come down in straggles over her shoulders, but she had a clan tartan thrown over one shoulder and she looked every bit as fierce as her Highland forbears. The only thing missing was a stripe of blue face paint running from her hairline to her chin.  
  
Coming up beside the professors were the students who had left with Dean and Neville, joining ranks with the defenders. Dean had one arm around Susan Bones' shoulders, leaning heavily on the younger girl but his wand at the ready as he limped behind his teachers.  
  
From the west, Draco Malfoy and his handful of students forged up the last few yards. Goyle held a hand to a nasty wound on his forehead, but his brain was hardly a vital organ. Several others showed signs of hard wear, but their expressions were universally set and determined. The Death Eaters solidified their line but unconsciously drew back from the additional threat; no matter how used they were to dispensing pain and suffering to their victims, they had little experience with a concerted, organized resistance.  
  
"TOM RIDDLE!" shouted Harry, pointing his wand at the wizard.  
  
Silver masks gleaming in the sunlight, the Death Eaters parted to reveal their master, drawing around him in eddies of black and gray. The clear area immediately behind the Dark Lord included the crumpled body of the headmaster, but Harry could afford to do no more than glance at the elderly wizard and could not tell whether he was dead or alive.  
  
"Harry Potter," hissed the dark wizard slowly. His white, reptilian hands rose and pushed back the hood of his dark robes, revealing his bony, repulsive countenance. "My dear boy. You don't know how glad I am to see you. And on your feet, for once. It's about time. It simply wouldn't do for everyone to see you die on your knees."  
  
Despite the confident words, Severus knew Voldemort better than almost anyone, and he detected the faint signs of fatigue and stress around the red eyes. Dumbledore had not been easily defeated, and Voldemort would have had to expend a great deal of energy and magic to do so. Severus felt sure that the confrontation with Harry Potter was coming much sooner than the almost immortal wizard had planned or was ready for.  
  
"He wasn't expecting you," he murmured in an undertone to Harry. "You were supposed to spend most of today chasing Malfoy, and give him time to gain control of everything here. He's off balance." The young wizard jerked his head in a short nod, acknowledging the words without taking his attention off his adversary.  
  
Voldemort's red eyes flicked to the men standing beside Harry. "Severus," he ground out in quiet menace. "I'll deal with you later.  
  
"I've already taken care of my greatest adversary," Voldemort continued, gesturing to the silver-haired wizard lying dead or unconscious on the ground, "and only you remain, Harry Potter. Son of my enemy, heir of Gryffindor," he spat out contemptuously. "You come before me with nothing but your toy sword and a pathetic assortment of allies. If you had the slightest sense you would flee to the ends of the earth and cower in fear for the paltry remains of your days."  
  
"You should have gone into theatre," Harry said abruptly. "You're worse than Gilderoy Lockhart."  
  
The abrupt sniggers of Remus and Sirius were too much for Severus to keep a straight face; he too grinned inappropriately at the comparison. Suddenly the group of wizards in their black robes and silver masks seemed patently absurd; it was a midsummer day and he could feel a trickle of sweat making its way down his back, and see a similar trail running behind Harry's ear. The Death Eaters would be keeling over from heat exhaustion before long.  
  
Voldemort's face twisted in abrupt rage and his wand swung towards Harry with decisive killing force.  
  
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, getting the words out a hair before Voldemort finished his "AVADA KADAVRA!"  
  
As they had before, the two brother wands connected, their respective spells lost in the clash of power. This time, however, no golden cage formed around the combatants. Splinters of gold appeared and dissipated in the air around them, sometimes to quickly to be seen, and during it all the golden thread which stretched from each wand tip grew thicker in the center. First one, then another ball of light formed on that thread, then more. Like beads on a cord they moved back and forth, growing larger and larger, glowing brighter.  
  
Harry took a faltering step forward, then another, only peripherally aware of Severus and Sirius at his back, keeping pace. The golden balls grew in size and intensity as they slid between the wands of the Boy Who Lived and He Who Must Not Be Named. Harry staggered forwards another step, and a high, clear note began to sing from the golden thread, filling the ear and sliding down until the jaws began to ache.  
  
The cord between Harry and Voldemort solidified and grew thicker as the young man fought to advance, becoming rope-like, then a solid beam bigger than a man's arm. The luminous balls coalesced, merging with each other into a single globe that grew in size and brightness until it became hard to see anything but the light and the silhouetted black forms of the dueling wizards.  
  
Harry and Voldemort let out simultaneous yells as the phoenix song suddenly rose into a high scream and their wands erupted into flames. The gigantic ball of power between them disintegrated, throwing out waves of golden sparkles that glowed brighter than the overhead sun before falling to the ground like cinders.  
  
With a snarl, Voldemort cast aside the handful of ashy splinters that remained in his scaly white fingers before those same fingers dove inside his robes and came up with another wand. Severus swore silently - hadn't he and Dumbledore squirreled away several found wands, yet blithely assumed there was time after Graduation to get Harry another wand?  
  
The new wand, however, was quickly shown to be less than compatible and Voldemort's face twisted in aggravation as it hesitated before discharging. The fragment of delay allowed Severus and Sirius to cast spells at the same moment, blocking the curse flung at Harry.  
  
One part of Severus' mind heard Remus Lupin cry out in pain as a Death Eater hit him with a painful curse as the battle erupted all around. Although Voldemort's followers were technically surrounded, they still outnumbered the castle's defenders by more than two to one. From the corner of his eye Severus saw Ron Weasley give Remus a hand up as the younger man cast a rather vicious hex in return.  
  
Most of his focus, however, remained on the lithe figure of Harry Potter as the young man fought his way towards the murderous wizard standing just a few lengths away, staggering as he absorbed the hexes he could not dodge or Severus and Sirius could not block, catching more than one on the blade of the sword and somehow parrying them, sending the offensive magic skittering off on odd and dangerous tangents. By sheer force of will, the two older wizards kept pace with Harry as he closed in on the Dark Lord. In an unspoken accord, Sirius and Severus devoted their entire attention to defending Harry, and in turn Ron and Remus did all they could to protect those two wizards from the hail of spells flying in all directions on the field.  
  
Voldemort howled with rage as the uncooperative wand in his hand continued to balk at his mastery, interfering with his aim and hesitating at inopportune moments. Arrogance and the press of his own followers at his back kept Voldemort from retreating as Harry raised the silver sword and swung wildly, the tip of the blade tearing the wand from the white hand and snapping it in two.  
  
The Death Eaters gave ground as their leader snarled at them to get out of the way, allowing Voldemort to backpedal a few steps as he fumbled in his robes once more, reaching for yet another wand.  
  
Voldemort was a powerful wizard, older than many on the field, and nearly immortal. However, his stolen body could not match the reflexes of a seventeen-year-old Quidditch fanatic, and he was physically incapable of dodging as Harry Potter brought Godric Gryffindor's sword up and lunged forward with all his might.  
  
A scream tore from the Dark Lord's thin lips, his voice echoing across the battlefield as the sword grated against his ribs. The reptilian face twisted in agony and disbelief as Harry thrust the sword deeper. Almost as one, the incredulous Death Eaters and their equally shocked opponents halted their conflict to see Voldemort sag to his knees before Harry.  
  
Severus could just make out the movement of Harry's mouth as he chanted a spell, but the majority of the spell was in the hissing syllables of Parseltongue. The few wisps of Latin he caught were not anything that had been taught in classes, though the verb for binding was clear, and the sword in Harry's hands began to burn a bright white. The sunlight, however, seemed to fade as the spell drew power from the very air around it, sucked in until the battlefield grew dim and Severus strained to see anything but the encompassing darkness and the brilliant white length of steel. The light coalesced and then suddenly went out.  
  
Instantly, a cold, searing pain went through Severus' left arm. He never heard Remus call his name, or the startled shouts of the Hogwarts defenders. 


	21. Chapter 21 The End

In spite of Ginny's optimistic prediction that someone would come back before too long, it was actually closer to four hours before a somewhat battered Severus Snape Apparated back to the meadow where his oldest enemy had met a long overdue end. The man who arrived was much different than the one who'd left; his tailored vest hung open, the buttons long gone after Sirius Black's rather inept attempts to render first aid. The once immaculate white shirt was now grayish, with smutches of dirt, blood, and other substances he was afraid to identify, considering the solicitous attentions Fang had paid to his unconscious person. The green and black neck-cloth had disappeared without a trace, and a rude, make-shift bandage was wrapped around his left forearm beneath a rolled-up sleeve.  
  
Standing once again before the hut where he'd left his wife, Severus cast about anxiously, knowing that Ginny was incapable of Apparating with someone else. The grassy depression was deserted, other than the body of Lucius Malfoy, and his heart clenched with sudden apprehension.  
  
Calling Hermione's name, Severus turned around, searching the rolling pasture for any sign. A short scream from a small distance away went through him like a thunderbolt. "Hermione!" he yelled, fear clutching his heart once more.  
  
"Professor Snape!" called a panicked voice, "Hermione's in labor!"  
  
For one instant, Severus Snape stood completely still, trying to comprehend the words he'd just heard. Then the message sank in and galvanized him into action, tearing over the slight incline to find the object of his search under a short oak tree.  
  
Hermione knelt in the grass, her head down, with Ginny crouched at her side. A ring of trampled vegetation showed that she had been walking about restlessly between contractions. Her dress was rumpled and darkened with sweat, the hem grass-stained and marked with various fluids.  
  
"I didn't dare leave her!" babbled a distraught Ginny, and one look at Hermione's red, sweaty face had him in agreement with her. Hermione's unruly hair hung in damp straggles down her face, and the vitriol in her voice was truly alarming.  
  
"Severus Snape, you bastard! You come near me and I'll break your effing kneecaps!" She groaned long and low as the contraction continued to bow her body for a full minute before releasing her to pant. She slowly eased back on her heels, the placement of her hands on her thighs and Ginny's support at her side the only thing keeping her upright.  
  
Tradition held that childbirth was a woman's battlefield, and Severus could well believe it. Her labor was obviously far too advanced to risk Apparating her anywhere, and the odds of summoning any of the medical personnel from the battlefield he'd just left were slim. Without hesitation, he conjured several blankets and a basin of water, complete with a face cloth.  
  
Brusquely shoving up the one intact sleeve, Severus wrung out the small flannel in the lavender-scented water. The first touch of it on Hermione's face brought a whimper of relief, and her eyes opened as he tenderly brushed back the tendrils of hair plastered to her face.  
  
"Severus," she whispered, her lips dry. "Are you alive?" Brown eyes clung to his face, her relief as clear as glass.  
  
"Real, alive, and very happy to see you," he told her as he conjured a cup of water and held it to her mouth. She drank a few sips before pushing it away. "When did this start?"  
  
"Just after you left," Ginny supplied, nibbling on what was left of a fingernail. All ten were bitten down to the pads, testifying to her anxiety over her friend and the boy she loved. "How did it go?"  
  
"We won," he answered shortly. "Harry's fine, and Pomfrey thinks Dumbledore will recover if he lives through the next few days. How far apart are the contractions?" he demanded while he coaxed his wife to lay back on the soft blankets he'd conjured. Sirius Black's cloak and a set of green dress robes lay nearby, but Ginny had obviously been unable to convince Hermione to stay on the makeshift bedding while she coped with the pain of labor.  
  
"There's almost no break between them," Ginny told him, a fact that he could see for himself as Hermione tensed again, a low groan again coming from deep inside her as she was gripped once again by the inexorable forces that controlled her body. "We knew she wasn't supposed to push until she was fully dilated, but neither one of us knew how to tell that. I guess it's been, what, a half-hour ago? Hermione said she just couldn't take it any more and started pushing."  
  
"It's coming," Hermione announced through gritted teeth. With an oath, Severus moved behind her, trying to hold her against his chest, allowing her to use all her strength to push. She let out a short scream as the contraction eased, and lifted her head to meet his eyes.  
  
"I tried to wait, Severus. I tried not to push, but it hurts!" She was gasping for breath, exhausted, the bewildered pain in her voice tearing at his heart.  
  
"I know you did, love," he murmured to her. "But it's alright now. You're almost done." He kissed her forehead and rubbed a reassuring hand over her swollen abdomen, trying not to take it personally when she batted his hand away. "Just a little bit longer. Has the head crowned yet?" he asked Ginny in an urgent undertone.  
  
"What, that black thing?" Ginny queried, pointing a well-chewed finger towards Hermione's spread knees. She'd long since got over the less than delicate parts of having a baby.  
  
"I'll assume that's a yes. You have your wand?" he asked. Ginny nodded, and Severus conjured several smaller blankets. "Put a light warming charm on this and hold it ready. When the head comes out, the rest will follow quickly."  
  
"You want me to catch it?" Ginny demanded, appalled.  
  
"Unless you think I can both hold my wife and attend to the baby," he replied with a touch of his normal acerbity. Conditioned by six years of unrelenting, scathing sarcasm, Ginny did as she was told. In the meantime Severus found a position that allowed him to support Hermione with his undamaged right arm and still kept his left hand free to minister to his wife.  
  
The next few contractions came relentlessly, and Severus held Hermione up as she bent nearly double, her hands gripping her knees until they were white from the wrists down. Whether she actually heard the encouragements and endearments he whispered to her, he could not tell, but as each contraction released her, she collapsed back against him and turned her face into his chest. Even with bruised-looking smudges of exhaustion under her closed eyes, wildly curly hair matted with sweat, she was the most incredibly beautiful creature he'd every seen. And that she turned to him between her exertions, resting against him in such a trusting gesture, made his chest ache with the emotion he'd long thought would never be his.  
  
Despite Ginny's impatience, Severus gave the news only as Hermione could absorb it - that Dumbledore had been struck down before Harry had reappeared with Severus, Sirius, and Ron behind him. The way the five of them had driven their way through to Voldemort. How the wands between Harry and Voldemort had joined and had at last burst into flames in both their hands, disintegrating to ash in a matter of seconds.  
  
"The feathers will burn..." Ginny murmured. "Oh, I know all about that stupid prophesy," she continued when Severus looked at her in surprise. "You're right, Hermione, divination is such complete tripe."  
  
Hermione laughed breathlessly in response, her eyes closed as she savored the short break between contractions. Several tiny blood vessels in her face had ruptured, giving her cheeks a freckled appearance.  
  
"So Dumbledore the Phoenix fell, but he's not dead. The feathers burning.. the wands, right? They both had phoenix feathers for a core. The sword breaking?"  
  
"Harry did just as he said - he ran Voldemort through with the sword. Whatever spell he and Dumbledore cooked up to trap Voldemort in the blade broke the sword, but it did the trick. Any part of Voldemort that didn't die with his physical body has been welded to the sword blade, and Harry's already sent off to Gringott's to request a specialist on holding cursed items."  
  
"That was my idea," Hermione said in a breathless whisper. "To use Parseltongue in a binding spell. Harry could fight, then?"  
  
"No doubt about that," Severus answered, more than a little impressed at her very clever notion of using Parseltongue to cast a spell. The only way to break such a spell and release Voldemort's essence would require another person speaking Parseltongue. Since Harry was currently the only living person with that ability, it was as near a perfect solution as Severus could imagine.  
  
"Remus thinks the elemental magic Harry touched when he woke you somehow reactivated the protection Lily Potter created when she died," he continued. "Harry's blood spilling on the ground was the blood Voldemort stole from Harry three years ago."  
  
"And darkness falling all over the earth?" pressed Ginny.  
  
Snape held out his left arm, the exposed wrist red and blistered, indicating a much worse burn was concealed under the bandaging. "Voldemort's defeat caused a backlash through the Dark Mark, and every Death Eater who had one was knocked cold. Took Pomfrey nearly twenty minutes to bring me 'round, and the few others who have regained consciousness seem to have lost their minds, as if they've been exposed to the Cruciatus too long. Dumbledore's feedback spell seems to have protected me somewhat from the full effect."  
  
Any further discussion was delayed as Hermione arched up once more with a contraction, her face turning red as she struggled to push the child out of her body. Severus would have done anything to spare her this pain, but could do nothing but support her as she groaned and pushed and suffered. Finally the contraction eased and let her relax into her husband's arms for the small valley of time between.  
  
"I love you, Hermione," he said softly, not caring if Ginny Weasley overheard him or not.  
  
"I love you too, Severus." Her breathing slowly evened out, then she took a deep breath. "Are we nearly done?" she asked, without opening her eyes.  
  
Without a trace of embarrassment, his long arm reached down between her thighs as he felt for the head of his child. A broad smile came across his tired face as his fingers found, quite close to freedom, a tangle of fine curls.  
  
"Very soon, I think," he told her, leading her hand to the same place. Even with an audience, it was an amazingly intimate moment for a man who had accepted a life alone.  
  
"Good," Hermione bit out as she was seized once again in a vise of her body's own making. She managed to snatch a proper deep breath before bearing down with all her might, held securely by her husband's arms. Her thighs shuddered with effort, and a keening moan came from high in her throat as her body strained brutally at its arduous task, until gradually, finally, the baby's head emerged, oh so slowly released from its mother's body.  
  
Another, milder contraction seemed followed with barely a pause, and Ginny belatedly shot forward with a cloth and caught the child as first one arm, then another popped free, and then the rest of its white-smeared, discolored body slid rather quickly from Hermione's womb, followed by a rush of blood and fluid.  
  
Tiny fists jerked and waved in the air, marking counterpoint to the mewling sputters that quickly rose into thin, rapid wails of outrage. The little chest heaved with its first breaths, and the baby's color turned rapidly from purple to bright pink.  
  
Ginny twitched the warmed cloth around the slimy, wet body, careful of the umbilical cord that still connected the new life to Hermione. "Um, should I be doing something with that?" she asked uncertainly.  
  
Severus lowered Hermione to the ground with a quick reassurance and pulled a black ribbon from his pocket, the same black tie that had wrapped the threatening letter from Malfoy. His hands were shaking, he noted distantly as he tied the ribbon around the umbilical, close to the baby's stomach, and severed the slippery wet cord with a flick of his wand. "She's a girl," he observed as he carefully wrapped his newborn daughter in the blanket. "Hermione, love. We've got a baby girl!"  
  
Beyond exhausted, Hermione smiled at the wonder in his voice and opened her eyes to see Severus holding up the red baby, whose squalls were fading into the occasional discontented wail. She held out her hands, and Severus placed the tiny bundle in the crook of her arm.  
  
"Hello there," she murmured to the baby girl, a sob of joy making her hiccup. "I'm your mummy."  
  
Despite the sweat and tears wetting her face, Hermione's smile rivaled any Madonna, and Ginny dashed an unexpected tear of her own away as her once- hated Potions teacher gathered his wife into his arms. Hermione lay against him in boneless, weary contentment, her head tucked under his chin as they both gazed at their daughter. Severus Snape, Ginny noticed, was also whispering to his child, both of them oblivious to their audience.  
  
Eventually, however, the new parents remembered Ginny's presence, and she was allowed to hold the infant while the necessary and, from her point of view, repulsive final business of childbirth was dealt with. "I don't think Sirius is going to want his cloak back," Ginny managed to joke as Severus wrapped the afterbirth up in a swath of fabric from that very garment.  
  
"Probably not," Severus said evenly as he did what he could to make Hermione slightly more comfortable. He had requested Ginny apply a drying charm the rumpled, sweat-soaked gown, as he was jealously reserving his waning strength to Apparate back to Hogwarts. He had no intention of trusting his new family to a Portkey, a notoriously violent mode of transport known for throwing the traveler off balance at the end of the journey.  
  
As Ginny reluctantly surrendered the baby back to her mother, Severus wrapped the rest of the ruined cloak around Hermione before pulling a small piece of metal from his pocket. He tapped it with his wand and promptly handed it to Ginny, whose overexcited brain took a moment before recognizing the object as the lid of an ink bottle.  
  
"It's a portkey, Miss Weasley. It will take you to the front gate of Hogwarts. The Aurors and other assorted idiots from the Ministry should have overrun the place completely by now, your father not withstanding, so don't expect a friendly welcome until you prove you're a student. Once you've arrived, please inform Madame Pomfrey I'll be Apparating with Hermione and the baby directly to the front door of Hogwarts and I would appreciate her immediate attention. And someone should remind Draco Malfoy of his duty to his father's remains," he added, nodding towards the hollow where Lucius Malfoy's body still lay.  
  
"Yes, sir," Ginny agreed, eager to see Harry again. She gave Hermione a broad grin and shouted "Congratulations!" just as the Portkey activated.  
  
"Alone at last," Hermione quipped in a low voice, and Severus sank to his knees beside her, a tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She brushed a strand of hair off his high cheekbone, concerned by the careworn lines on his face. "Are you sure you're up to this? Apparating, I mean?"  
  
Severus captured the hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. "I can do whatever I need to do, at least for the next little while. If, however, a contingent of giants comes over that hill in the next few minutes wanting to negotiate their rightful place in wizard society, I'm going to tell them to bugger off and come back Tuesday next. I'm all done in, and not sure how much more I can handle today."  
  
He winced inwardly at the subject of giants; he had not told yet about Rubeus Hagrid's valiant death, and the news would wound her deeply. Hagrid was the one member on staff who had never failed to treat Severus with respect, either as a student or a teacher. He, too, would miss the gentle soul of the half-giant.  
  
Severus had left many things out of his tale, but he looked forward to sharing with her the other things that had made an impression on him that day. Such as the way Neville Longbottom had not stuttered once as he explained his role in the battle to the newly appeared Aurors. Some of the wizards and witches appearing from the Ministry had remembered Neville's parents, and truthfully even Severus had seen something reminiscent of the boy's father in his bearing after the battle. The way Cornelius Fudge had appeared, puffed with self-righteous officiousness and quite obviously just this side of panicked as he ordered Sirius Black be arrested, and when he saw the burn on Severus' arm, ordered him arrested as well. Harry had objected, shouting and stubbornly refusing to budge even an inch on the subject. In the end Mad-Eye Moody had stepped in, along with the chief Auror, and agreed that Harry's godfather and Hogwarts' former Potions Master could probably be trusted not to murder anyone in the next few hours while all the mayhem was sorted out.  
  
That decision, however, was the moment the tide turned. Regardless of how many further orders Fudge issued, he was by and large ignored by the Aurors and personnel Apparating in from St. Mungo's, their respect for Fudge running out like water as they went about the business of dealing with the aftermath of the battle. Instead, they turned to Harry Potter and the members of the Order who were already accustomed to Harry's leadership role under Dumbledore. The Boy Who Lived was in charge, and no one on the battlefield had any doubts of that.  
  
All these things, though, could wait until Hermione and the baby were safely back at Hogwarts and they had the leisure for both mourning and celebration. With a grunt of effort, Severus managed to pick up his wife, child and all, and a moment later, Disapparated, leaving the hillside to the sheep and the wind.  
  
*****  
  
Warm, clean, and comfortably nestled into the newly installed larger bed in the Head Girl's room, Hermione did not move as the sound of running water suddenly ceased from the bath. She wasn't dozing, though her mental state was close. In the crook of her arm, her baby daughter had latched onto a nipple and was taking another crack at getting a meal. The primitive act of feeding her baby was not distasteful as she'd feared, but felt amazingly right. It filled some elemental need in her to feel the suction, the warm little mouth with such a strong grip, despite the cramping ache of her belly and the very real impression that she'd never sit properly again.  
  
The baby's solid black curls wisped up against the pale green cap; she'd given up taking uncoordinated swipes at it as she fed. For someone only a few hours old she was already showing signs of temper, and she'd taken quite a dislike to the knitted hat her mother had put on her. That displeasure had been abandoned when her appetite had asserted itself, at which time she had demonstrated a healthy set of lungs.  
  
The bathroom door opened and let out a puff of steamy air, along with a nominally dressed Severus Snape. Tired and eager to join his wife, his only efforts to ready himself for bed had been to shower and comb impatient fingers through his hair. His luggage had not yet found its way to the Head Girl's room, so instead of the black lounging jacket Hermione so detested, he wore his wife's genderless terrycloth robe. Unfortunately it was a cheery butter yellow and did nothing for his color or disposition. The fabric strained slightly across his shoulders and hung open over the pale, lightly defined chest and inevitable black boxer shorts.  
  
Severus found his wand lying next to Hermione's on the Head Girl's study table, along with her long-forgotten dress robes and the enameled necklace his mother had sent, which Hermione had been very happy to see once more. With ease of long practice, he made short work of warding the room and the door. Satisfied with the additional security, he lit the fire with a muttered "Incendio" and joined Hermione in the bed, plumping the pillow to allow him to lean against the headboard and letting out a heavy sigh.  
  
From his spot by Hermione's elbow, Crookshanks opened his eyes and regarded the intruder. The cat had already thoroughly inspected the new little occupant of his bed, and purred his approval, and now Severus was under the same scrutiny. He stared back at the yellow eyes, waiting for a growl or hiss. The two of them had not met the one day Severus had spent in Hermione's room, having disappeared as cats were wont to do, and he'd left before the resident male had returned.  
  
Crookshanks stood up and stretched, then stalked closer to the man invading HIS bed. With a deliberate body slam, he collapsed against Severus' chest, purring. Amused despite himself, Severus gave the ginger-striped ear a scratch, getting more purring for his efforts.  
  
Crisis averted, Severus shifted until he could see his daughter better, suckling slowly now, black eyelashes crimped closely to plump little round cheeks. "Are you sure she'll be all right here in bed with us?" he asked softly.  
  
Hermione glanced up, but seemed just as entranced by the little person in her arms. "No worries. You're a very light sleeper, and I doubt she'll let us go more than an hour or so at a time tonight."  
  
Severus grunted in acknowledgement; although the critical cases has been transferred to St. Mungo's, Pomfrey and several of the personnel from the hospital were caring for a ward full of less grievously injured Aurors and students. The mediwitch and her cohorts had happily volunteered to watch the infant while the exhausted parents got a much-needed rest, but neither he nor Hermione had considered being separated from their daughter for even a moment.  
  
"We'll need to get a bassinet or something in the morning," he commented, watching the little rosebud lips at Hermione's breast. "I'd say conjure something, but I haven't the energy to summon a handkerchief right now."  
  
"We're going to have to come up with a name in the morning," Hermione corrected. "We haven't even thought of what we're going to call her, or who'll be her godparents, or...." she was interrupted by a massive yawn, and gave up the effort of listing all the things left undone.  
  
Severus shifted closer, much to Crookshanks' displeasure. "My family has a tradition," he began.  
  
"Oh, no. We're not naming her Octavia or Agrippa or any other Roman empress."  
  
"All right, then," he agreed, not entirely surprised. "How about Athena, or Diana? I've always been partial to goddesses myself," he murmured, giving her a significant look.  
  
"Umm. I've always liked English queens," Hermione replied, warmed by the appreciation in his eyes that she unfortunately would be unable to do anything about for quite some time. "Lots of those, like Elizabeth or Eleanor, or Victoria. That's a good one, even if she was a stuffy old biddy." She looked down at the infant in her arms. She had drifted off the nipple into sleep, her little mouth still making suckling motions. "How does Victoria sound to you, hmm?"  
  
"Victoria Snape sounds acceptable," her father answered for her. "We can worry about what goes in the middle tomorrow." He leaned down and kissed Victoria gently in benediction. "Born on the day Voldemort was finally defeated. I'd say that sounds perfect."  
  
Victoria did not stir, and Severus stared down at her, remembering the events of the past day before shaking his head. "I wish you could have seen it, Hermione," he told her quietly. "You would have been very proud of Harry today."  
  
"I am proud of him. Aren't you?"  
  
I am. impressed. He has the gift of command."  
  
"Is that a primal magic?" she asked.  
  
"No. Only the magic of his heart. He asked, and I followed a seventeen- year-old boy into a battle we should never have won. But we did." He gave a snort of self-deprecating humor. "I've been wrong, all along. I thought Dumbledore was grooming Harry to be the next Merlin."  
  
"Of course he's not," Hermione murmured sleepily.  
  
"He's the next Arthur," Severus stated.  
  
"King Arthur?" Hermione moved her head slightly to look up at him. "Are you insane?"  
  
"No, unfortunately," he said seriously. "Before tomorrow is over the call for a vote of No Confidence in Fudge will be ringing through the halls in the Ministry. One word from Harry Potter and Arthur Weasley will be Minister of Magic before Fudge's chair is cold. Then, in twenty or thirty years, when Arthur's ready to step down, Harry will be Minister. Not witch or wizard in England will be able to conceive of anyone else."  
  
Hermione blinked at him, bemused, obviously wondering if he'd gone mad. Severus leaned over once more and kissed her forehead. "Don't worry about it now, darling. I trust your judgement, and I'll trust Harry. The Boy Who Lived will become Harry the Conqueror."  
  
She snorted slightly. "That sounds silly."  
  
Severus smiled as well, and with one finger gently caressed the cheek of his newborn daughter. "And our daughter will never need worry about the kind of things you have had to, Hermione. Not with Harry as her godfather."  
  
"Now I know you've gone mad. You want Harry for Victoria's godfather?"  
  
"No," he replied with mock severity, "I want Ginny Weasley as godmother. She's your friend and was there for the whole thing. Harry's just riding in on her coattails, since they're obviously joined at the hip."  
  
Hermione sniggered. "And a few other places. Thank you," she added sincerely, before kissing his mouth softly. With a gentle smile, she handed the sleeping infant to her father while she refastened her nightgown and settled further into the bed. Miffed at the way his humans kept moving about, Crookshanks retreated to the foot of the bed and curled up in an aloof ball.  
  
When Hermione was comfortable, Severus once again laid Victoria in the crook of her arm and extinguished all but one candle with a murmured, "Nox." He found a comfortable position lying on his side, one arm curled under his head as he took in the sight of his wife and child. In the soft light of the single candle, Hermione gazed back at him, her eyes warm with the love for both him and Victoria, the events surrounding her actual conception no longer even a remote concern.  
  
Hermione felt a tiny thread of worry surface as Severus continued to stare at her. His eyes were pure black in the dim light, the lines of his face deepened by his fatigue, his black hair going wavy as it dried.  
  
"Is something wrong?" she whispered.  
  
"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head. "Just looking at what fate has given me."  
  
To his surprise, Hermione bit her lip in what he recognized as a nervous habit. "Severus, if you have any doubts, please tell me. Maybe it is just hormones, or pheromones, or whatever."  
  
Severus leaned over his daughter and silenced Hermione with a quick kiss, followed swiftly by another.  
  
"Hermione," he said patiently. "I love you. You've borne me a child, and we are linked forever, in the most elemental way possible."  
  
She opened her mouth, and he quickly shushed her. "Don't confuse elemental with unreal," he told her softly, his nose brushing against hers as he spoke in gentle, persuasive tones. "This is real."  
  
He kissed her mouth softly, fully, and just as her mouth opened beneath his, the kiss was interrupted when he was hit with a jaw-cracking yawn. She could not help laughing at him and her own phantom anxieties; they were both drunk with fatigue and far beyond rational thought.  
  
"I promise you this," he told her when he could speak again, fumbling for her hand in the covers and holding it tightly in his own. "I love you, and our daughter, and I have no intention of letting you or her out of my sight for at least a decade, if not longer. I'll come up with something more eloquent in the morning, but I'm just too knackered to be poetic right now. All right?"  
  
"All right," Hermione murmured, yawning a bit herself as she closed her eyes. "We have tomorrow."  
  
"And all the days after," he rumbled, feeling just a bit poetic anyway, even as he gave up the battle and drifted into sleep.  
  
  
  
~The End~ 


	22. Epilogue

~Several years later ~  
  
"I will place the Sorting Hat on your head. When it announces your house, you will take your place at that table." The tall witch, her reddish hair gone a few more shades towards gray, her hat still as crooked as ever, adjusted her square spectacles and began to read out the names on the long scroll in her hands.  
  
"Ambrose, Stephen."  
  
As the boy came forward, the hat was placed on his head, and the first child of this school year was sorted into Ravenclaw. Headmaster Dumbledore nodded with approval as the Ravenclaw table clapped and welcomed their newest member.  
  
The Grand Hall of Hogwarts had changed little over the years. The only notable difference was a relatively new banner that hung among the other displays of heraldic devices and chivalric tapestries. In it, a young man with untidy black hair stood, head cast down, over a bundle of black and gray robes. A single limp hand protruded from these robes, white, taloned, and scaly. The young man bore a broken sword in one hand and, if one looked closely, his red robes were actually a set of Quidditch practice robes.  
  
The image was known as 'The Sword of Gryffindor,' and was a reproduction of the famous snapshot taken by Colin Creevey moments after the defeat of Voldemort. The photo had been blazed across the entire front page of the Daily Prophet's special edition on the day after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry had autographed thousands of reproductions in the years since, and the image seemed destined to join 'St. George Killing the Dragon,' at least in the annals of wizard history. One of the first prints of that photo hung in the Headmaster's office, encased in a simple and relatively cheap chrome frame. Only Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape attached any significance to the rather ugly little square-headed nail that held it on the wall.  
  
Standing near the back of the crowd of children who clogged the space before the Head Table, a young girl with curly black hair waited, her hands clenched in anticipation. Unfortunately, she had a long wait. Student after student went forward and were sorted, each receiving applause from their new houses, until finally Professor McGonagall read out her name.  
  
"Snape, Elizabeth."  
  
Just as the tattered old hat covered her ears, she caught a glimpse of her parents standing in the entrance at the back of the hall, but then she was the only person who could ever see through her father's 'do not notice' charm. As Elizabeth closed her eyes and concentrated a voice spoke, seemingly between her ears.  
  
~Ah ha! Another Snape. So what shall I do with you?~  
  
Over and over again, she chanted the name of her preference in her head, and the voice chuckled.  
  
~Are you sure about this? It will cause quite a kerfluffle, you know! Very well then, it shall be~ "Hufflepuff!" shouted the hat aloud.  
  
The Hufflepuff table applauded, along with a smattering of other students from various tables, but a round of boos arose from the Slytherin table. One boy, sitting among his third year peers, made a megaphone of his hands and booed loudly.  
  
"Mr. Snape! That will be quite enough!"  
  
"Oh, stuff it, Will!" retorted the younger boy, scowling up the table at his fellow Slytherin. "Just because you're Head Boy..."  
  
"Edward Snape! Don't you make me take house points off already!" hissed back the Head Boy. William Snape's short black hair clutched at his head in greedy ringlets, which had earned him the nickname of 'greek god' since his first day at Hogwarts. His younger brother's brown locks were straighter and long enough to be tucked behind his ears, but they both had their father's prominent nose.  
  
Across the room, a girl from Gryffindor turned to seek out an identical face at the Ravenclaw table. Athena Snape and Diana Snape exchanged a look of mutual exasperation at the stupidity of brothers before turning back to their respective comrades with matching flips of their long black braids.  
  
"Yarmouth, Ellen" became the last Gryffindor, and Professor McGonagall took the hat and stool to the side of the room as the girl scurried to join her new house. At the head table, Professor Dumbledore, his beard turned a few more shades to white, his narrow shoulders a trifle more bony, stood and raised his hands for quiet.  
  
"I'm tremendously glad to see you all this evening. Welcome! Welcome to the new students, and welcome back to all those who are returning. Before the feast, I have a few announcements to make.  
  
"First, I would like to announce that the new Quiddich pitch will be completed in time for our first game. Our flying instructor, Professor Weasley, will be using the old pitch for flying lessons, rather than the courtyard as once was tradition. Mr. Filch has informed me that the statues around the courtyard have all been replaced or repaired after a rather unfortunate accident last year, and it would be lovely if they stayed that way."  
  
The students applauded politely. At the Ravenclaw table, a pudgy second- year boy turned bright red and stared determinedly at his plate, while a Gryffindor under cover of anonymity shouted "Good job, Longbottom!"  
  
"Second, I would like to welcome our new Potions Professor, Ms. Victoria Snape. Professor Snape has recently been awarded the title of Potions Mistress, and is, I believe, the youngest person to have ever earned that title. I am quite pleased she has decided to join our staff here."  
  
To Dumbledore's left, a tall young woman inclined her head to acknowledge the headmaster's praise. She might have blushed, or it might have just been the heat in the room, but she certainly noticed when Ron Weasley abruptly leaned forward to get a better look down the head table at the new Potions Master. He hadn't seen Victoria since she was a bossy, knobby- kneed, fifteen-year-old trouble-maker climbing trees in Harry's back yard and arguing hotly as to why the Bristol Buccaneers were a better team than the Chudley Cannons.  
  
She looked much different now.  
  
Professor Snape raised a single black eyebrow at Professor Weasley. She received a cheeky grin in reply - even at the age of forty, Ron Weasley maintained a boyish charm and a devil-may-care air. She turned her attention back to the headmaster, but a toss of her head caused her cascade of black curls to flounce perhaps a bit more than it ordinarily would have.  
  
In the entrance to the Great Hall, Severus Snape's sharp eyes did not miss the byplay. "If Ron Weasley makes so much as a move in Victoria's direction, I'm going to hex him until he'll never be able to hold anything between his legs again, let alone a broom!" he growled into his wife's ear.  
  
"Now, Severus, you know as well as I do that Victoria does exactly as she pleases," whispered Hermione to the man who stood at her side. "If she doesn't like his attention, she'll flay him with that sharp tongue she inherited from you."  
  
"And if she does like it?" he retorted, his tone icy.  
  
"Well, then, she's probably inherited her mother's penchant for older men," Hermione answered with a smile before pressing a kiss to Severus' cheek above his square-cut beard. Like his hair, it was streaked here and there with silver, and the dramatic coloring suiting his craggy, aristocratic face.  
  
"Bad enough that Elizabeth has been sorted into Hufflepuff," he groused. "The thought of Ron Weasley as a son-in-law is more than I can stomach."  
  
"Lizzy hates to cause an argument," Hermione reminded him. "You know all of her brothers and sisters have been pressuring her since Edward was made a Slytherin." The term inter-house rivalry had reached a new definition in the Snape household with two Ravenclaws, two Slytherins, and two Gryffindors all wanting their youngest sister to be Sorted to their respective houses.  
  
"It's just too bad that Henry couldn't be here to see his little sister sorted."  
  
"It's his first day of school as well, Hermione. Though why he had to go to America of all places to go to university, I'll never know." Severus Snape's voice was as brutal and sarcastic as ever, but his wife merely smiled indulgently at his truculent tone. Their oldest son's choice had been received with something less than enthusiasm by his father, but the lad had his mother's stubborn streak and had finally won his father's blessing to attend the college of his choice.  
  
Hermione Snape leaned against her husband's chest and sighed. "It's going to be so quiet in the house, now that all the children are in school. I don't know if I'll be able to stand the lack of noise."  
  
"Hmm," Severus nuzzled his wife's ear and dropped a kiss beneath her ear. "I told you we could have outdone the Weasleys. It would have only been one more."  
  
"Don't even start, Severus," she warned him. "An entire Quidditch team is more than enough children. You and I have put off several projects, and it's time we tackled them. There's things to be done."  
  
"You're absolutely right," he said stoutly. "And the first thing I want to do is to make love to you in the middle of the living room floor."  
  
"Severus!" Hermione protested, laughing weakly as he pulled her in closer and planted another kiss on the back of her neck.  
  
"Hermione!" Severus returned in the same tone of voice, resting his forehead against the back of her head, his nose buried in the loose coil of hair gathered on the nape. "Do you realize that this is the first time in twenty-two years we've had the entire house to ourselves for more than a single weekend? If Harry and Ginny hadn't taken the kids off our hands for a while every summer, I don't think I could have maintained my sanity."  
  
"Umm," commented Hermione thoughtfully. "Well, which should we tackle first - that trial on mermaid scales we talked about last month with Herr Doktor Hermengard, or the mystery potion from our beloved Minister of Magic ."  
  
"Only you would call Arthur Weasley 'beloved,'" interrupted her husband snarkily.  
  
"Arthur is beloved. That nice Auror who brought us that potion to test even said "Fudge who?" when I mentioned him."  
  
"A fitting tribute to the late, unlamented Cornelius Fudge," Severus commented.  
  
"You're avoiding the question." The smile in her eyes belying the growl in her voice. "Where do we start?"  
  
"After we make love in front of the living room fireplace? I don't really care."  
  
"Well then, what are we waiting for?" she purred, nipping at the underside of his jaw.  
  
"Damned if I know," Severus Snape muttered, and pounced. Fortunately the children in the Great Hall were making enough noise to cover the shriek of laughter Hermione let out when he pulled her over his shoulder and proceeded to carry her, feet waving in the air, out the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts and back towards their home.  
  
~The really, truly End~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Authors Final Notes:  
  
I cannot express how very overwhelmed I have been by the response to my story. What began as a tiny plot bunny with exceptionally vicious fangs has turned into a full-fledged novel of more than 110,000 words. If nothing else, all the lovely comments and enthusiasm it has generated has forced me to realize that I can, actually, write.  
  
So - I'm going to give it a try. While I do have a couple of other fanfic pieces bubbling away in my cauldron, I'm going to concentrate on writing a real, honest-to-goodness, hope I can sell it novel. I plan to continue lurking and reading, and possibly adding my two-knuts worth to the fanfic community, but most of my efforts are going to go towards something that might actually support me. (Considering my employer is a really huge corporation that has laid off more than 10,000 employees in the last year, it's not such a bad idea.)  
  
My fondest hope is that everyone who tries their hand at writing gets the kind of support and enthusiasm I've been given. Thank you all, once again, for your cheers and constructive criticism. I'd never have made it without you.  
  
P.S. I forgot to add this to the end of Chapter 20.  
  
Read "The Charge of the Light Brigade" at the following web page: http://www.nationalcenter.org/ChargeoftheLightBrigade.html 


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